Into the Herd
by M.D. Off-Red
Summary: 27-year old single parent and successful lawyer Arthur Kirkland doesn't wish for another son. However, he takes in a broken home teenager named Alfred. Things become difficult when Alfred comes to love him, especially when it's nothing paternal. USUK AU
1. Lost Child in the Rain

A/N: Is it possible too much writing can cause headaches? I don't know, I've ben having these headaches lately, and I have been sleeping 8 hours a day and eat two times a day. Hmm. Doesn't make me stop writing though. I was watching a beautiful heart-wrenching story titled "America"; about a broken home and sexually abused boy whose name is America too, it's a good movie I highly recommend it! You can say this story is inspired by that movie. :-)

**Summary**: 27-year old single parent and successful lawyer Arthur Kirkland doesn't wish for another son. In a moment of sympathy, however, he takes in a 17 year-old broken home teenager named Alfred. Things become difficult when Alfred comes to love him, especially when it's nothing paternal. eventual USUK/UKUS AU

Warnings: R-15. Language.

**Into the Herd**

**Chapter One: Lost Child in the Rain**

"The state is currently lacking of volunteers for foster families."

Arthur, who was reading some files in silent, lifted his gaze with an eyebrow raised in question. The Spaniard was sitting comfortably across his ebony-colored work desk, eyes were fixating on the newspaper he held in hand, and although it didn't seem like his statement was directed to Arthur, the blonde could tell his work-partner hinted something behind it. And it looked like Arthur had to respond to it, despite his unwillingness to halt on reading the case files. He looked at the small flower-shaped bobbly clock nearby the white laptop on his desk, there was ten minutes before lunch time finished. It wouldn't be bad to chat a bit.

"So I see." Arthur replied, tidying up the messily arranged papers. "And why is that?"

"Because in our country there are currently more than ten million children living on the streets." Antonio clicked his tongue, resting an elbow on the hand of the chair. "And there are not enough foster families nor youth rehabilitation centers to take them in. It's sad, isn't it?"

"Truly." Arthur commented monotonously, finding the subject a bit of a bore. "Can't blame them. It's hard enough raising your own child, how can you care for others'?"

"Maybe so, I don't have a kid, so I don't know yet. I just feel it's a pity, really. Children are supposed to be cared for, but there are so many irresponsible parents in the world. They're the world's treasures and should've been treated as such." Antonio uttered, sighing.

The Kirkland frowned slightly. "There are people who don't appreciate the gifts God gave them. Sometimes we got cases like that when children are abused by their parents, the numbers keep increasing according to the police reports. Including marital abuse, sexual harassment, pedophilia, rape, and the like."

"The world's gone mad… This is making me depressed, and while it's supposed to be working hours. I won't be able to work at this rate." Antonio sighed exasperatedly, a hand went through ebony hair. He folded the large-sized papers neatly, before throwing it onto Arthur's work desk. He glanced at a photo frame on the British man's desk, he took it and flipped it in his hands. A fond smile grew on his lips as he saw a picture of Arthur with a perfect miniscule version of him, grinning and waving his hand while his father smiling politely at the camera.

"Peter's so big now! How time flies, huh? I remember he was so small when I held him. How old is he now?" He asked.

An identical smile appeared on Arthur's face as well. "He's turning seven this weekend. We're going to have a small party on Saturday, you should come. Peter will be happy."

"I will." Antonio sounded excited. "What should I buy for the present? Any tips from his daddy?" He teasingly asked, placing the frame back to its previous position.

"Anything that's not too expensive. Can't be spoiling him all the time, recently he's whining for wii, some sort of game platform I guess. It's troubling me." Arthur calmly smiled, adjusting the silver photo frame.

"You're too strict with him! Come on, Arthur, a boy needs his games, every boy does."

Arthur rolled his eyes, putting the files into the desk drawer and then locked it. "You're such a sucker for kids, you spoil him too much. I'm strict because I want to raise him to be a proper man, buying him expensive gifts won't help it. Just buy something cheap and useful, don't buy anything that might make my son a shut-in." He shot the Spaniard warning eyes, in which the other man took rather quickly.

"…I'm just going to buy him a soccer ball then." The spaniard said, nodding slightly.

"Good." Arthur said as he stood up.

Antonio raised a questioning brow. "Where are you going?" He asked.

Arthur had slid some folders into his briefcase, closing it afterwards. "Peter called earlier, he said school finishes early and he wants me to take him to the park today." He said while shutting down the laptop.

"Call? With what?"

"I bought him a cellphone."

The spaniard smirked. "For a seven-year old? Who's the doting dad now?"

"Shut up. It's only for protection, I need to know where he goes to and who goes with him. And to make sure his teachers watch him so if someone bullies him, I'll know." Arthur stated firmly, walking over the coat hanger nearby the entrance. He lowered the briefcase onto the floor, then glanced over his shoulder, seeing the spaniard still wearing the same smirk on his face. "Sweep that bloody smirk off of your face, I am not spoiling my child. I am being a careful parent."

"Sure. Whatever you say, Arthur." Antonio shrugged his shoulders. "I bet you're going to buy that wii in the end."

Arthur shot him an irritated glare. "I am not. I might buy him something smaller than that."

"Hmm." The brunette didn't look convinced.

"Luckily I've no appointment today. I have to go spend quality time with my kid every once in a while, I haven't have the time lately. Peter's getting lonely and when he does, he gets ten times more troublesome." He slipped his right arm through the coat's silky inner sleeve, then did the same for the other arm. He adjusted the coat, brushing off some dirt on the shoulders. Antonio stood as well, taking the newspaper into his hand. Then he walked over the blonde, passing by him towards the exit.

"He's just a kid you know, he gets lonely when his dad rarely plays with him. Didn't you say you hire a nanny before?" He leaned onto the door post.

"I did. But she didn't last long. None of them did. Apparently Peter is too hyperactive. I even called through several nanny agencies and they turned me down, Peter's name is already on their blacklist. No one wants to take care of him, so I had to drop him in a day care until he entered school." He was tidying his blue-striped tie.

"Hmm. Your kid does have a lot of energy." Antonio nodded. "I'd be glad to take care of him, but then again you'll fire me if I do."

Arthur smiled at him. "You're my favorite accountant, there's no way I'm letting you go even if it's my kid we're talking about. I'll find another way around." He said,

"Haha. Well, you're my most prized employer, I think." The spaniard grinned.

"I _am_, you git." The British man spat out, but grinned as well. "Now sod off, I'm going to lock my office. Or maybe you prefer being inside and stay until I come again tomorrow?"

"Err… no thank you." The brunette immediately strolled out.

The British man locked his office, bidding good days to his employees along the corridors. He waited for the elevator for five minutes before the iron door slid open for him when it reached the sixth floor, making a clear 'ding' sound. He entered, he met Ludwig, a German who worked on the tenth floor. They knew each other quite well and they had a pleasant conversation along the ride. The German bid Arthur farewell when the elevator reached the ground floor, while Arthur was going to the basement where he parked his Benz. He got off as soon as the elevator stopped and immediately went towards the car, when his cellphone rang in his coat pocket. He fished it out, there was a new text message. It read:

_Subject: daddy, hurry up!_

_Sender: Peter Kirkland_

_daddy, where r u? school is done. peter waits in classroom alone._

_u promise me to park, remember? i wanna eat ice cream and waffles!_

_peter hungry… hurry up, daddy!_

Arthur snickered after he read the message. His boy had already used to the cellphone Arthur bought him two months ago. Peter had been very excited with his new cell, he texted Arthur almost every fifteen minutes, telling his dad what he was doing at that time, like eating lunch, playing soccer with his best friend Raivis, doing art and crafts, even going to the toilet. Arthur was pleased he liked his new cellphone, but the boy did need to fix his grammar… well, it was expected of a seven-year-old boy. Arthur decided he would teach him proper English later at home.

Remembering his promise, he checked his watch. He was indeed late. He slipped a hand to rummage his pocket for the car keys, quickly finding it and unlocking the door with a small remote control. He got in and started the engine. Then he smoothly exited the basement parking lot to the busy streets. Almost immediately drops of water fell from the darkened sky and splashed onto the sparkly clear glass window of his car. It was raining. People on the streets ran with a bag or something flat and wide covering their heads, avoiding direct contact with the falling water. Arthur leaned in closer to the steer, furrowing his eyebrows as water splashed rather harshly to the window.

"Looks like we have to cancel the park today." He murmured, while turning the car onto a corner. "I hope Peter's not sulking right now."

The rain soon became harder and denser. It became hard for Arthur to see the road. Peter's school was just around the corner now after twenty minutes of ride. But as soon as he parked the car in the school parking lot, he didn't see Peter in his usual spot by the school front gates. Looked like the rain forced him to stay inside, perhaps in his classroom. The school building was farther inside though, it was a rather big building but still a bit far from the gates. Arthur got off with a black umbrella in hand, opening it before he stepped outside. He locked the car with the remote again, putting the keys inside the inner pocket of his coat then. He ran towards the gates, rain hitting and soaking the hem of his coat and Italian leather shoes. But they were his least priority.

The school yard looked absolutely empty. It seemed Peter wasn't exaggerating when he mentioned he was waiting for him alone. There was only a guard in security post by the parking lot gate, and the guy was fast asleep when he entered the lot. Arthur couldn't help but to feel a bit worried. He had an uncomfortable feeling raising in his chest. He sped up his steps, the hard soles of his shoes splashed onto water puddles that pooled evenly on the extensive path. It was raining really hard. Arthur could only saw the silhouette of the building as he lunged into the wall of rain.

Seconds later, he finally saw the building and the main door was opened halfway. And a silhouette of someone by the narrow stairs. Arthur halted his steps with wide eyes, his body stiffened as he took the sight of his only child was crouching by the stairs, crying while trying to wipe his face that was soaked by both tears and rain. His clothes and whole body were wet under the downpour. A tattered sea-blue bag laid by his feet, torn and ripped. And there was another person in front of him, lying on the wet, solid cemented ground. He wore soaked, dirty coat and jeans as he curled his body, arms were pressing against his stomach, wriggling in a somewhat pained gesture. Arthur couldn't see his face as it was hidden beneath dirty honey-colored tresses.

Snapping back to reality, Arthur realized his own son might be hurt as well. He rushed towards the two, uncaring of the umbrella that was left behind and fell onto the ground when he released his grip on it in shock. He didn't care for the rain harshly pouring down onto him, almost stumbling on his way as he ran towards his seven-year-old son. "PETER!" He shouted, worry overcame his voice.

Peter lifted up his face at the call, eyes brightened up when he saw his father running towards him. "Daddy!" He shouted, standing up with trembling legs. Then he ran towards Arthur with spread arms, lunging and hugging the older man's legs.

Arthur crouched down to Peter's eye level, clumsy hands went to his son's face and caressed the cheeks, checking for any wound. "What happened? Are you hurt? Why aren't you waiting for me inside?" He asked the question in hurried, worried tone. Emerald eyes looking for any wound on Peter's body, he found nothing but scratches on his knees. But they were probably caused from playing soccer. Other than that, he found none. He sighed in relief.

"I-I'm not hurt, daddy." Peter said, tears still pouring down his eyes. "B-Big brother does." He turned and pointed an index finger towards the slumping figure.

"Oh God," Arthur uttered in panic, standing up and walking over the lying blonde. He crouched by his side, reluctant to touch him but felt worried in the same time. "Is he alright? What happened exactly, Peter? Why is this man hurt?" He turned to his son, who was standing behind him, a hand clutched at his wet coat.

"I-I was waiting for daddy by the door because daddy was late." The boy sobbed, coughing a little. "Then, whe-when I wait, these scary older guys comes and starts bullying me. I'm scared 'coz… 'coz they said they gonna hit me. And--And this big brother comes and tells them to 'fuck off' and then… big brother got hit instead and then he fell and hurt real bad and the mean bullies left laughing… I'm so scared, daddy!" He hiccuped, wiping the reddened eyes.

"No, no, Peter, don't cry! Don't worry, daddy won't let them hurt you. You're safe now. Now go hide from the rain and wait for daddy and this big brother, okay?" Arthur rubbed the boy's head soothingly, adding in whisper as he turned around. "I'm gonna sue those brats' asses off once I got my hands on their names."

"Okay." Peter nodded, then he picked his torn-up bag and ran towards the building, waiting by the gates where the roof protected him from rain.

The blonde teenager grunted in pain. Arthur immediately caught a hold on his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay? Where does it hurt?" He asked, sneaking his arms behind the teenager's back to lift him up a bit. The younger blonde's shoulder slumped lazily and his body turned, and Arthur could finally saw his beaten-up face.

The teenager cracked open a mesmerizing bright blue eye that wasn't swollen purplish blue like the other. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of the abused boy; a swollen right eye, cut-up lips that still bled some blood, and a bit of that red liquid dripped down his nostrils. And his left cheek looked blueish like it would swell at any time. He kept clutching at his stomach, gripping tightly at the soiled shirt. It got him suspicious. "Excuse me, move your hands a bit," Arthur said as he carefully peeled off his hands and lifted up the hem of the shirt.

And his eyes went wide.

Big, ugly dark purplish red spread on the tan stomach. It looked very bad and the blonde teenager yelped in pain when Arthur touched it lightly. Arthur pulled his hand quickly. Anyone who did this certainly didn't hold back.

"We have to go to the hospital." Arthur told the blonde teen as he lifted the teen's head, he was about to help him up by the shoulder, but the teen refused the gesture.

"Can't." He stuttered as he wriggled away from Arthur's arms, head facing down as he coughed briefly. Arthur cringed when a few drops of blood splashed from his mouth and mixed into the puddles on the road. The teen glanced at him over his shoulder. "have… no money. Can't pay."

"Money's not a problem. You saved my child, I'll pay for the treatment as a thank you." Arthur quickly said, offering a helping hand.

But the teen didn't take it. He used his elbows to support his weigh, proceeding to get on his knees shakily. Arthur watched as he stood up, staggering a little while still holding onto his stomach. When he stumbled backwards, the British man quickly went to catch the bigger body, helping him stand properly. The teen grinned in gratitude, he winced because he stretched his cracked lips. "Thanks, but no thanks." He said, moving away from Arthur's hands.

"You're badly hurt! Let me take you to the hospital!" The oldest man insisted, but the teen shook his head, lifting a refusing palm at the older blonde.

"N' need ta care 'bout me. Keep yer money fer your kid. He needs it." He said, brushing off the offer.

"At least tell me where you live. I'll take you back." The blonde teen only stared at the British man with his only healthy eye, he paused for a moment before responding.

"I don't 'ave a home."

The statement suddenly cut off any thought from Arthur's mind. And he stood there under the rain, staring dumbfounded at the younger man. Only a second, and he already knew the meaning behind it.

The teen only grinned. "Look, 'tis no biggie. It'll heal right away if I sleep. Go away old man, go home with yer kid." Then he turned on his back, walking away with his back gradually vanishing within the curtain of water.

And Arthur only stood there, dumbfounded.

Suddenly the rain no longer hit him. He glanced to his side and found Peter was holding up an umbrella while standing on his toes, shading him from the rain. "Daddy? What's wrong?" He worriedly asked, big innocent eyes staring up at him.

Arthur's mouth opened. But then closed it. And he opened it again.

"It's nothing."

* * *

_"The state is currently lacking of volunteers for foster families."_

Antonio's words rang in his mind. And even though he was already within the comfort of his apartment, had taken a shower and had dinner with his son, he couldn't seem to get them off of his mind. Arthur sighed as he slumped down onto the sofa, turning on the TV and going over channels to look for news. After he found it, the remote and his hand dropped onto the soft cushion. It was about a recent gas explosion in a five-star hotel, not very interesting for him. And in daze his mind wandered again, reminded of Antonio's words.

_"Because in our country there are currently more than ten million children living on the streets."_

_"And there are not enough foster families nor youth rehabilitation centers to take them in. It's sad, isn't it?"_

"It is." Arthur murmured to himself. He remembered the teen who got beaten up in his son's place, he was homeless. He looked like he was around 16-17 years old, and yet he was living aimlessly outside of home, alone. Arthur couldn't forget the sadness he saw in that azure eye. He clenched his jaws. "It is… sad."

He turned off the TV, then got up. He walked down the narrow corridor, towards a door at the end of the path. Standing in front of the door, he carefully turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. The door creaked softly as it swung inward, revealing a darkened room with a single bed right across the door. The room was filled with toys and decorated playfully like a child's bedroom would. Peter was fast asleep, his face displayed childish innocence and peace. Arthur walked over the bed and sat on the edge, a hand gently stroking his son's hair. Peter grunted and smiled in his sleep, he looked like he was having a good dream.

_"Children are supposed to be cared for, but there are so many irresponsible parents in the world. They're the world's treasures and should've been treated as such."_

Indeed they were. Children were precious treasure. Arthur knew that the day Peter was born. The first time he held that small, fragile baby within his arms, he felt scared because he was so beautiful and precious. He seemed so breakable, and Arthur had though if he held him wrong, he feared the child would shatter like glass. He was scared and yet fascinated. Peter's hands were very tiny back then, he couldn't believe babies had such tiny, soft hands like that. And the feeling of happiness and warmth spreading within him when his tiny fingers clenched down on the tip of his index finger, couldn't be replaced by anything else in the world. Arthur could still remember he cried back then, drops of warm tears just fell from his eyes like that. His ex-wife laughed at him. And he laughed too. It was the happiest day on Arthur Kirkland's life. Peter was his precious treasure, the best thing ever happened in his life.

He couldn't imagine the parents who possessed no heart for their children. How could they abandon such beautiful, innocent things? Love escaped their lips, but nothing but hurtful beatings came from their hands. They abused their children to the point those children couldn't take it anymore and left the house to live on the streets. They slept in cold, dark alleys even in winter, scavenging trash for food. Many thought it was far better than going back home, where their abusive parents were. Arthur would never let his child feel like that, he worked hard to earn money so Peter could go to college, had a fulfilling life although his parents had separated. He intended to raise him with all of he had so he would become a fine man someday. And Arthur would do anything to make sure of that.

After the divorce, his career went smoothly. He was considered as one of the youngest and most successful lawyers in his field, many trusted him for their cases. And they paid him handsomely for his excellent work. He bought a spacious, luxurious apartment in the town more than enough for the two of them. He bought a stylish car, put his son in a good private school, and had even secured savings for his son's college in the future. He was living a far better life than most. He had plenty of extra money he didn't know what else to spend on, since Arthur was not careless in financial department, he never bought expensive but useless things and because of that, his bank account numbers swelled and skyrocketed. Hell, he could even afford another child at this rate.

_Another child._

Yes, he was well-off enough to afford another child.

Now that he thought of it, Peter always told him he wanted a brother. And not just any brother, but an _older_ brother. But of course, because Peter was the first child, there was no way Arthur could grant that wish. He told him that many times, but the spoiled child wouldn't listen and demanded for him to somehow _make_ one. Typical child, he was. Arthur thought of something that never crossed his mind before. He was reminded of the blonde teenager who helped Peter earlier. Although he seemed reckless, he had a good soul. Arthur pondered silently as thoughts kept crossing his mind.

After a while, he got up. He tucked in the blanket and gave a kiss on Peter's forehead before he left the room. Outside of the room, he leaned his back against the door, he stared up at the high ceilings. It was quiet, no sounds at all except for the ticking clock from the living room just across the corridor. Arthur lowered his gaze, then he started walking, his legs soon brought him to a spacious kitchen, he spotted a small wooden cupboard hung on the wall by the exit, and went to open it. It was a key box, many small hangers with labels glued right beneath them, and keys of each of the room was hanging there, the car key and its remote was also there.

Arthur gingerly took the car keys.

Then he closed the cupboard carefully. The keys and its unicorn decoration jingled faintly in his hand, he took a grip at it. He left the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was late, almost midnight. And from the terrace window he could still see the previously weakened rain had become denser than a minute ago. It was going to rain again tonight, maybe all night. Those who slept outside would freeze, the season had gotten colder after all. Especially if they had to stand the pain from wounds and bruises, they might die. Arthur shook his head at the thought. No, he mustn't be pessimistic, but he did have to hurry.

Without further ado, he sped up his speed towards the front door, fetching two dry and thick coats from closet, and two umbrellas as well. His eyes flew restlessly at his watch, which he found along with the coats, it was late, very late. He wasn't sure if the school gate had been locked. But it wasn't necessary that boy stayed inside. He might've been outside of the school area, wherever he was. Arthur couldn't be sure, but he was not going to give up easily. But he must hurry, if those wounds turned out serious…

Arthur locked his doors and windows before leaving and getting into the elevator. Once it hit the first basement, he got off, eyes quickly searching for his car. He spotted the jade-colored Benz and quickly went over it, coat and umbrellas in hands. He got in and started the engine. The basement was silent but there were cars filling the parking spots, he drove his car to the exit, as soon as it arrived on ground, trickles of water dropped onto his already soaked and unwashed car.

The streets were still filled with people as it was at day, that was how it had always been in this city that never slept. Luckily, the streets were empty and he didn't spot traffic jam in front of him. Arthur increased the speed a tad bit, but not enough to get him pulled over by a patrolling cop. From the highway, he took off, entering the normal road. It was exactly fifteen minutes from his apartment to Peter's school. And he managed to cut it to ten minutes without being fined. As soon as he arrived by the very entrance of the area, he lowered the window, sticking out his head slightly to see if the gates were locked. And it did, damn. And the security guard was nowhere to be found in his post, probably patrolling.

_Dammit, what should I do?_ He mused, biting down his lower lip lightly.

But there was also a possibility that the boy wasn't within the school grounds, and that thought crossed Arthur's mind. He might still be around here somewhere, he couldn't have strayed far with those damages. He pressed the gas and drove away in a much slower speed. He tried circling the area outside of the solid brick wall that surrounded the entire school area. It was a large school, there were elementary, middle, and high school divisions inside, each on a different building, and had excellent facilities such as swimming pool, tennis yard, sport building, green house, etc. But it proved even an expensive school had a loose security, Arthur must complain to the school later.

The neighborhood was dark, so Arthur turned on some extra lights. He drove around for five minutes, still found no clue of the teenager he met before. But as he thought about it, his eyes spotted a silhouette of someone with dirty blonde hair, sitting under the rain next to a trash bin and an electricity pole on the outside wall. Sucking in air in anticipation, Arthur drove closer until he could see his face. His eyes widened slightly, it was really that boy. He was slumping against the brick wall, both hands laid limply at either sides of his body, and he hung his head between his shoulder blades, wet to the bone. Arthur quickly fetched the umbrellas and the coat, opening the door to release the umbrellas first.

The dark blue coat hung on his arm as his hands gripped at each of the umbrella, one for himself, and the other he quickly thrust forward to cover the boy from the rain. The moment he felt no drop of water hit his head, the teen looked up limply, he seemed conscious, but his only healthy eye wasn't focused. He tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows slightly, staring up at Arthur but he couldn't seem to see him clearly. "…who…?" He murmured in very soft, inaudible whisper.

"I'm the father of the boy you saved earlier, my name is Arthur Kirkland" Arthur said as he crouched down, still holding up the umbrella for the teen.

Blue eye widened slightly in realization. "Oh… you…" He grunted, coughing a bit.

Arthur could see his body trembling from the cold of the rain. And a hand crept slowly to the stomach again, gripping tightly at the shirt. "Wh… at… d'ya want, mis… ter?" He asked weakly.

"I'm going to help you and I won't take no for an answer." Arthur said in a firm, demanding tone of voice. Before the boy could comply or refuse, Arthur had thrown the dry coat around his soaked body and positioned himself and then scooped the boy's shoulder over his, while holding the umbrella with his tilted neck. He carefully moved his body, very carefully not to worsen his condition, and brought him back to his staggering knees. The boy was taller and bigger than him, that it was a bit difficult for Arthur to adjust, but he had taken a firm hold on him. He could lift him, he knew he could.

"Why… 're ya doin' this…?" The blonde turned his head towards the older man, realizing his troubles in lifting a bigger weigh. "Told ya… I don't need 'elp…"

Arthur shot him an annoyed glare, while sneaking a hand around the teen to support him better. "Do I need a reason to help someone? I just want to."

The teen gave him puzzling look. "But… I'm just a no good…"

"No child in this world is 'no good'. Don't ever say that in front of me again." Arthur retorted sharply. "And stop talking. Don't struggle. You might make your wounds worse."

The blonde teen went silent then, obeying Arthur along as the older man leading him inside the car. The boy was too weak to protest nor to buckle up himself, so Arthur did that for him instead, making sure the belt tightened safely around the blonde. Then he pulled back, closing the door. He walked around the car to get in from the other door. He glanced at his side, the boy was shivering as he wrapped the coat around him. Arthur turned on the heater and told the boy to take off his soaked shirt and wear the coat instead. The boy complied and did as told, though Arthur had to help him changing clothes. The teen uttered a thank you to him, which he replied with a nod.

"Where… are we going?" The teen asked.

"Hospital. We must have your wounds checked and treated first." Arthur said as he started the engine, his feet pressing the gas paddle.

The blonde teen was staring at him all the while, Arthur noticed it and glanced back at him, but quickly turned his gaze to the road again. "What?" He asked, keeping his concentration on driving.

"Yer… weird." The younger blonde said. "I told ya… ta keep yer money for yer kid… why spend on me…?" He asked, still staring at the older man.

Arthur paused, pondering. But he had made his mind the moment he left Peter's room.

"Because I'll be having another son."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: This fic is eventual USUK. But I want to build up the family story first before going to the romance :-) What do you think? Do you like it? Papa-Arthur wants to know too ;3


	2. War On

A/N: So… turns out adoption has very complicated procedure and costs _a lot_. I've been reading stuff about adoption laws in US, the eligibility to adopt, as well as the total fee for the whole operation. Man, that's some long, I mean LONG paragraphs. And a lot of zeros too. I don't know how to put those information into the fic, but to prevent confusion I'm just going to tone it down. It's been so long since I read so much materials. It made my head hurt. x.x Thankfully, Arthur is rich enough to pay off those tremendously expensive fees. Thank God he's rich. x.x My dad's a lawyer, he's been very helpful and told me a lot of stuff about laws and his schedules. :-) He is always very busy, so I can understand Peter's feelings.

Anyway, I was quite surprised by the many positive responses for the continuation of this fic! It is a pleasure to write this story, as I've given all my heart and love to write my stories, it feels good to know you like it! :-) Oh, and especially to **Pineapple**: I suppose you're right. I am well aware of how this story will turn out, but as we all know, such things are also a part of life and some of us probably have experienced something such as falling in love with an older person. And yes, love is a silly thing, and it's also something we can't control. :-)

Warnings: R-15. Language.

**Chapter Two: War On**

"So, I heard you picked up a stray kitten."

Arthur lifted his gaze from the papers and took the sight of the flamboyant man standing before his work desk. He was a man with tasteful sense of style with the combination of navy blue suit and light blue inner shirt, a stylish and matching indigo tie tightened loosely around his graceful neck. The man had come into the room without him noticing. The British man raised an eyebrow, gesturing with a tilt of his neck at the chair right across his desk. In which the man with long, wavy golden hair nodded and smiled in gratitude, taking a seat on the mentioned chair in a graceful manner.

"I've been waiting for you," Arthur said, meanwhile reading the papers and purposely not looking at the flamboyant man. "You sure took longer than usual."

The Frenchman laughed softly, politely bringing a fist to his mouth to show perfect mannerism. "I am sorry, Arthur. I was having a little snack with a lovely lady this noon. Very delicious snack indeed." He winked at the Brit playfully, in which the more serious of the two failed to notice the humor.

"I have no interest in hearing your indecent little escapades, Francis. I called you here because I need you professional advice." Arthur finally put down the papers in his hand, finally looking at the Frenchman in the eyes.

"Oh? Is it about the stray kitten I've been hearing about?" Francis asked, an elbow rested on the hand of the chair, a hand supported his chin as he tilted his head in curiosity.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "I have no idea what bloody kitten you keep talking about, but if you mean the street boy I helped three days ago, then you're right. It is about him." He uttered, taking the papers he was reading before then handing it towards the older blonde.

The Frenchman accepted them and took a brief look at the photo clipped at the top right corner of the paper, then golden brows furrowed slightly. "Alfred F. Jones? Is this the boy?" He asked, rubbing his chin in thought, eyes fixating at the blue-eyed blonde teenager who smiled brightly at the camera, a pair of blue-framed glasses hung loosely above his nose.

Arthur nodded. "I got those from a detective friend of mine I hired to investigate his backgrounds."

"I see that. But I don't understand why you've gone all the troubles to investigate his personal information. And with such depth." Francis flipped the pages, there were five pages filled with information about the teenage boy, he only took a brief read at them, but he knew they were detailed and reliable. Then he looked up at Arthur, raising questioning eyebrows.

"I don't understand, Arthur. Are you this boy's attorney? Did he do some kind of crime? Both you and I know if that's the case, you're more than capable of winning his case alone. You don't have to ask for my advice."

"You've misunderstood, Francis. I am not his attorney, and he did not do any crime worth sending him to the court." Arthur watched the Frenchman's expression twisted in confusion.

"Then why?"

Arthur closed his eyes, pausing for a few seconds, before opening his eyes and responding. "I… wish to adopt him. And I want you to be my attorney."

It took mere two seconds for Francis to recover from his surprise. "What?" He choked out, eyes widened in disbelief. "W-wait, have my ears betrayed me, or have I really heard you stating you want to adopt this child?" He flailed the papers onto the desk, the fragile document crashed onto the wooden surface with rather loud noise. Francis leaned forward until his stomach nearly touched the edge of the table. He furrowed his eyebrows and stared at the silent British man, his eyes wanting answers.

Arthur stared back at him, seemingly unfazed. "…unless you've gone deaf in the age of thirty two, I suppose you couldn't hear me. But you haven't heard wrong. I want to adopt that child." He stated, firmly and clearly. "I do wish you will take my case."

"But… Arthur, you already have a beautiful son. And he is still but a child! Why would you want another? And one who is not related to you by blood, a complete stranger?" Francis reasoned, still couldn't understand what the younger lawyer was thinking.

The British man lowered his gaze. "I know I have Peter already." He uttered, slowly raising his eyes to meet with another pair of turquoise orbs. "But I also know I want to help this child no matter what." He stated firmly, eyes flashing with determination and seriousness the older man rarely saw within the Englishman's eyes.

Francis slumped into his seat and leaned back. One look at those eyes and he knew whatever he said would not falter Arthur's decision. The man was always like that; straightforward, had a strong sense of justice, he was a man with determination harder than steel, and yet had a big heart laced in pure fondness towards children. He was serious. Francis realized he couldn't reason with him when Arthur was as stubborn as rock; he would adopt that boy even if he had to use full authority of his position and reputation. He was a man like that.

Francis stared at him and Arthur stared back.

"…Okay. I get it. I accept the case. I'll be your legal advisor and help you get the custody of him." The Frenchman finally said, sighing softly in his seat.

He brought two digits to massage his aching temples, adoption was never easy case. It usually took a very long time to receive full consent to adopt a child, the procedure was hard and difficult, and it took a fortune to pay for the fees, not to mention the numerous tests of eligibility whether the person qualified to be an adoptive parent. Some even had to wait _years_ until they could adopt one child.

He knew it was going to be a long case.

Arthur smiled. "Thank you, Francis. I'm counting on you."

"It's easy for you to say, you know I'm going to be the one with the headaches, while all you'll do is paying and waiting." The Frenchman grumbled.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Please. Don't say as if you're not enjoying this. We both know you're the kind of shark who loves gnawing at the arses of those stuck-up old dogs in the court."

Francis turned his head at him, feigning surprise and disbelief. "I can't believe you said that! You're going to tarnish my reputation!" He exclaimed, winking an eye playfully.

"Since when do you have 'reputation', Francis? You love making enemies with your damned method of talking your way to victory."

Francis laughed slyly. "I just can't help it, Arthur. Those angry faces they made have been a great turn on for me. It is so very exciting." He smirked.

Arthur snorted, he pulled the drawer of his desk, drawing out a yellow-colored folder file from inside then throwing it at the Frenchman. Francis perfectly caught the file with a hand, flipping the yellow cover then. He flipped the pages with a serious look on his face.

"It's the rest of the necessary documents I thought you'd be needing for the adoption. I've searched Alfred's background and found his birthmother lives in California. You and I will go there tomorrow to talk to her. If she wants her son back, I'd be willing to give up. But if she doesn't…" Arthur paused. Francis could see the disgust in his expression as he continued. "…then I'd fight for his custody. Understand?"

"Understood." Francis nodded.

"Good. Tomorrow at eight sharp, we meet at the usual place. Don't be late."

Francis left with the documents Arthur gave him.

The day went with Arthur accepting his clients' appointed visits. Most of the cases he received nowadays were of married couples in the midst of divorce, if not his businessmen clients came in need for legal consults. People came and went, back and forth to his office, controlled by his capable Hungarian secretary who did an excellent job in arranging his schedules. Every five meetings with the clients, Arthur would have a ten minutes break to just let his head be empty and relaxed for a short moment, before he accepted another client and another different case. He was very busy. The whole month had been filled with appointments and visits to the court. Only one day did he had a full day off, and that was on his son's birthday party. He had purposely rejected all appointment requests for that day to spare that one day to accompany Peter all day long.

Arthur glanced up at the clock hung on the wall across the room, the long needle pointed at five, while the short one at seven. It was getting dark, he noticed by the casement on the other side of the room. Peter must be at home right now, watching his favorite cartoon while waiting for him to come home. His office closed at six, there should not be any more appointments left. Arthur turned to the white telephone on his desk, he pressed the receiver button and waited for three seconds.

_"Yes, sir? Do you need something?"_ Came a soft voice of a woman across the line.

"Is there any more appointment I must receive?" He asked.

_"Let's see…"_ Elizaveta paused, probably checking his schedule. "_No sir. There are no more for the day._"

"Good." Arthur sighed in relief, glancing at the properly zipped briefcase by his leg. He had packed his stuff beforehand. "I'm going home, Elizaveta. Please email me the schedule for tomorrow, oh and make sure every door is locked when you leave the office."

_"Understood, sir." _And Arthur cut the line.

He leaned and let his weight dropped into the comfortable seat, inhaling and exhaling heavily. He was tired. It had been a busy day as usual. He closed his eyes to let them rest for a short while, just taking his time to breathe properly. Slowly opening his tired eyes, he glanced at the photo frame of him and his son. He smiled, taking the photo to look at it closer. Peter was as cheerful and full of energy that day they took the photo, and although it was two years ago, exactly two months after Arthur had legally divorced his wife, the child had been as cheerful as ever. He had thought Peter would be sad, but much to his surprise, the child was stronger than he looked. He remembered the boy told him such mature and yet immature statements.

_"If I'm sad, daddy will be sad too. I don't want to see daddy sad. Peter will be good, so daddy won't be sad."_

Really, such a gentle, kind child he was. And he was just five that time. But he already understood what his father had gone through. He knew Arthur had been devastated since the divorce. And Peter had been the reason why Arthur had persevered all this time. He was the reason why he must succeed in his career, in order to give his son a better life. He tilted his head and thought the photo was quite old. Maybe he had to replace the photo with a new one. Maybe this time… a photo of three, including Alfred.

The thought allow a smile to show on his lips.

But he couldn't be sure. He hadn't even start the fight yet. Tomorrow he would go and meet the mother, ask her to relinquish her son if she didn't want to take care of Alfred anymore. The thought made the smile turned to a frown. What if his mother really didn't want anything to do with her son? Arthur couldn't imagine such abomination. A child was the God's wonderful gift, why would she abandon such beautiful thing? Arthur couldn't help but to feel disgusted and angry at those irresponsible parents. If she didn't want Alfred, then Arthur would take him in.

He put the frame back to where it belonged.

Arthur took the briefcase and stood. He pushed the wheeled chair to the desk then walked over the hanging post to fetch his coat. He quickly put it on, before leaving the room, locking it with a silver key. He bade good evening to Elizaveta as he passed by her desk, she responded with a smile and bade him good evening too. He did the same with the rest of his staff, entering the rather crowded elevator cube, since most of the companies within the building had almost exact close times. Most of the crowd left the cube when it reached the ground floor, only three remained as the iron door slid closed, Arthur wasn't familiar with the other two, so he kept quiet along the way.

He stepped out when he reached the basement. Spotting his car among the vehicles, Arthur walked over it, unlocked the doors with a push of the remote, started the engine, and drove out of the underground parking lot. The sky was still clear when he got out, it was a clear sky without much clouds, he was sure it wasn't going to rain tonight.

He drove along the highway and the crowded streets, thirty minutes later he already in front of the tall apartment building. The security guard recognized him right away and let him in, nodding while slightly lifting his dark blue hat. Arthur took the first free spot he found, parking his Benz safely. He got off, locking the door with the same remote, then strode towards the elevator.

There was a peculiar security system in that apartment, the building's inhabitants were each given a special card that allowed them to pass the security in the elevator and the card determined the floor they lived on automatically, but if an inhabitant wanted to go to another floor, he simply had to push the floor button before the computer automatically did it for him. But for that, the said inhabitant had to push his hand against the screen sensor placed below the buttons, the computer would check his fingerprints, making it impossible for intruders to enter another floor even with the card. If the fingerprints didn't match the inhabitant list, the alarm would go off and the elevator would lock itself so the intruder couldn't escape until the professional guards came to open it and take him to the inspection room .

It was in a way convenient and safe, in another, might be a bit annoying. But Arthur liked this kind of system. Such a tight security system allowed him to feel relieved, knowing his son was in the right place. Especially since he often left Peter alone at home, he constantly worried of the boy's safety. Money didn't matter, as long as his boy was kept safe. Arthur inserted his card into the thin line out side of the elevator. The green light above the door brightened immediately, then after a few seconds, one of the three elevators opened up for him. He stepped in, once again inserted the card and let the computer did its work.

On the twentieth floor, Arthur left the elevator. There were only seven flats on each floor, because each flat was almost as big as a penthouse. Arthur strode along the corridor, stopping in front of a room with golden numbers of '2004' hung on the door, while a name placket was placed on the right, his family name was written on it. He inserted the card key again then turned the door knob, finding the door had been unlocked.

"Peter! I'm home!"

He only had to wait seconds before the noise of running footsteps reached his ears. And Peter appeared as he turned on a corner with a bright face to greet him. The boy immediately jumped at his father, hugging his waist while exclaiming joyfully, "Daddy! Daddy's home!"

"Yes, I'm home, Peter." Arthur laughed as he ruffled his son's hair, crouching down to his eye level. "How's your day? Are you having a fun at school?"

Peter nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Mrs. Norris told us lots and lots of fun stories! And Raivis and me played soccer and we won! And then… and then big brother came to pick me up and we ate ice cream and waffles at the park! It's so delicious!" He exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Is that so? I'm glad for you, Peter." Arthur smiled, stroking his blonde hair.

"Umm…"

Arthur lifted up his gaze to see the young man bandaged in many parts of his body, stood a little farther behind Peter, he smiled at Arthur, but he looked a bit uncomfortable. He seemed like he hadn't used to the new surroundings of Arthur's home. He kept glancing nervously at the floor and Arthur, he looked a bit confused and didn't know what to do or say. Arthur straightened his back and smiled.

"Hello, Alfred. Thank you for picking up Peter today."

His gloomy expression suddenly brightened up. "Y-yeah! Don't mention it, I'm happy to do it. Uuh…" He hesitated a bit. "Welcome home, Mr. Kirkland."

"Well, it's definitely nice to finally be at home where I can relax." Arthur stretched his stiff muscles, then glanced at the teenager again. "How's your wounds? Is it still hurt?" He asked.

Alfred lifted his bandaged arm, and moved it to show he was fine. But then he winced slightly, grinning sheepishly at the Englishman. "It's still a bit hurt, but I'm getting better. The doctor said I should take a walk at the park, he said it'll be good for my recovery."

Arthur snorted. "That bloody doctor's a lunatic. Advising injured people to take a walk? Tomorrow we'll go to another hospital!" He uttered jokingly as he took off his coat.

Alfred laughed. "You know, that's what I thought too."

Arthur smiled, he felt glad seeing the kid loosened up in front of him. He put his coat to the closet, taking off his leather shoes and slipping into the much comfortable house sandals. He gently refused Alfred's offer to bring his bag, saying he hadn't grown old enough to need a young man such as himself to help him. They went to the living room, where as he expected, the wide plasma TV screen was bright and Cartoon Network was on. He tugged at his tie until it released his neck completely, sighing as he flopping down onto the sofa, relaxing his tense body. Peter sat next to him, pulling Alfred to sit on his right so Peter was sitting in between the two.

"Oh, yeah." Arthur sudden said, lolling his lazy head towards the two younger blondes. "What do you two want for dinner? I think I'm going to order something."

"I want pizza, daddy!" The youngest exclaimed, thrusting his hand up.

"Pizza again? Oh well, what do you want to eat Alfred?" He turned his emerald gaze at the teenager.

Blue eyes blinked. "Do we have to order food?" He, in turn, asked. "Don't you have a huge kitchen in the back? Why do we have to order food?"

"Because daddy can't cook!" Peter was the first one to respond, before Arthur could. "His cooking's so bad, I don't want to eat it!" The boy acted as if something choking him, sticking his tongue out.

"H-Hey! Peter! You know that's not true! I can cook fine, I'm just too tired after work, so I don't cook much anymore!"

Peter shook his head vigorously. "No, daddy! Your cooking sucks! Daddy told Peter to never lie, so Peter told the truth!"

"Peter, how could you!" Arthur felt like crying, how could his own son deny his cooking so?

"I can cook." Alfred suddenly mentioned.

The two Kirklands turned their heads to him.

"Wow, really?" Peter asked with huge sparkling eyes.

"Really." Alfred nodded. "My… mom can't cook, so I'm used to cook food for myself and her. I don't know if it's good though. I think it's pretty edible."

"Wow…" Peter uttered in amazement. "I want to try your cooking!"

"Can you do it?" Arthur couldn't help but to feel curious.

"Well… I thought you were running out of stock, and you gave me some money, so I went to the market to buy some groceries. Now that I think of it, no wonder the fridge was so empty. I didn't know you don't cook." He hesitated.

"It's a different matter if someone can actually cook around here!" Arthur said, feeling excited. Then a faint blush covered his cheeks as he scratched the back of his head. "Actually, I've had never cooked before. My wife used to cook for us, but we've separated now. I tried cooking, I like cooking, but none of the food I cook is edible to other people but me. Peter and me… we haven't' had a home-cooked meal since… well, for two years." He said, blushing slightly.

"Oh… wow. That's harsh." Alfred commented, he seemed a bit surprised. "I guess it's okay for me to cook?"

"By all means, please." Arthur nodded.

"Yay! Big brother's gonna cook for Peter and daddy!" Peter jumped in joy.

The three went to the kitchen. Arthur and Peter watched in amazement as the American teenager started chopping the vegetables with the unused kitchen knife and other utensils, he cut them fast and skillfully, peeling off the skin of the carrots and potatoes in a matter of seconds for each, like a professional chef. The blonde kept blushing under the curious and mesmerized gazes of both the father and son, unused to being looked at while cooking. Delicious smell immediately wafted throughout the wide space of the kitchen, Arthur's stomach growled as he took in the scent. Alfred indeed could cook.

Soon, the dining table that was usually occupied with pizza box, a bowl of cereal, a bottle milk, ordered food, and occasional chinese take-outs before, now filled with delicious-looking home-made feast; there were cream soup, salad, fried veggies, smoked salmon, slices of French bread, and even rice. A well-balanced diet Arthur had though he would never eat anymore after he divorced his great cook of an ex-wife.

"Oh God. _Oh_ _Bloody God._" Arthur _moaned_ after he had swallowed the first bite of the smoked salmon. He took another bite and grunted in joy. "This is so delicious! You're the chef, Alfred!"

"Ya think so?" Alfred had blushed in embarrassment and satisfaction.

"This is so good, big brother! Peter likes it!" Peter exclaimed, the soup dripped down his chin, then he dug in, eating in a messy manner.

"Peter, watch your manner!" Arthur warned him.

"But this is so good, daddy!" He whined.

"Well, I can't disagree with that. Very well, I will let you do as you please just this once." Arthur laughed aloud.

The dinner had been merry and lively. It had never been so lively before, as much as Arthur could remember. Both he and Peter were excited to finally eat proper, healthy food, and ones that were delicious also. It was always only the two of them, and often Arthur would either come home late of too tired to eat that Peter had to eat alone. But now it was different. And the one who had caused such a joyful night was Alfred. Three days. Only three days he had been living together with the Kirklands. And since the boy came, the house had been livelier than ever. Peter no longer whined and sulked whenever Arthur came home late, because Alfred was there to accompany him.

The wounds turned out not very serious, the cause of his listlessness was malnutrition, which was plausible because the boy had been living on the street for quite some time and hadn't eaten for days. The doctor said Alfred would be fine, as long as he didn't carry anything heavy. And since Arthur was unable to pick up Peter from school, Alfred did it instead, playing with the boy or taking strolls at the park together afterwards. Apparently he was strong enough if it was only doing simple things like that. And it had been a great help to Arthur. He was growing fonder and fonder towards the American boy.

Arthur closed the door behind, careful not to make a sound.

"Is he asleep?" Alfred asked in whisper.

"Yes he is." Arthur smiled, glancing at his son's bedroom door. "We'd better go so we won't wake him up."

Alfred only smiled and nodded.

They went back to the living room, Arthur took a seat on the sofa, changing the channel into the news. He glanced at the awkward teenager behind the sofa and signaled him to sit next to him with a tilt of his neck. Alfred quietly complied and went to sit next to him, silent all the while. Arthur understood he must felt strange being in a stranger's home, although he had been living here for several days. But it wasn't enough to make the boy's anxiety disappear so easily.

"So, Alfred. How's your day? Was Peter being annoying?" He tried to start a conversation.

"No, no! Peter's a good kid, he's really fun to be with." The younger boy had told him with a sincere grin on his face.

"Is that so? I'm glad you two get along well." Arthur replied with a grin too.

Alfred fidgeted on his seat.

"Mr. Kirkland?" He called hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Why did you take me in?"

The British man turned his head to him. Alfred was staring at his own feet, he looked like he felt awkward asking the question. Then he glanced expectantly at the older blonde.

Arthur paused. He tilted his chin up and his gaze raised to the white ceilings, thoughtful. "Well," He said. "I guess I don't know."

Alfred raised a questioning eyebrow. "You don't know?"

The Englishman lowered his chin, then turned to the younger man. "Yes. I don't know why. I just wanted to do it."

Alfred's eyebrows twisted in confusion. "You just wanted to? Even though I'm a complete stranger?"

The older man nodded. "Yes."

Alfred fell silent.

"…do you pity me?"

Emerald eyes widened. But Alfred was looking at him with seriousness in his eyes. He demanded an answer, one that if Arthur answered wrong, the teenager would be offended or he might dash out of his house after that. An uncomfortable silence emerged between the two, none made a sound but the ever-tickling clock on the wall. Arthur lowered his gaze, seemingly thoughtful. "…it is not pity, I think…" He uttered softly. "Perhaps, it's because I see myself in you. My younger self."

Azure-tinted eyes widened. "What?"

Arthur looked at him. "When I was younger, I ran away from home." He saw Alfred gasped. But he only smiled. "It was a very long time ago. My drunkard of a father often beat me and my mother did nothing but watched when he lapsed into this uncontrollable rage and beat me until I nearly died. My heart stopped for five minutes before the doctors resurrected me. I was thirteen then."

"Oh 's…" The American boy gaped, didn't know what to say.

"Terrible, yes. But I was lucky. My uncle from dad's side and his wife who couldn't have children took me in and adopted me. They raised me with love and care until I graduated from college." He told him. "Before that, I've experienced living on the street with others who shared the same fate as me. For about six months, before my uncle found me. But it was a long time ago, I'm no longer bitter about it. My parents have died too, when I was sixteen." His voice grew softer.

"You see, I don't pity you. I know how you feel."

Alfred was oddly silent, staring down at his own hands.

Arthur sighed and switched his gaze to his thighs. "…that's why I despise parents who abandoned their children. I love my own child, so why couldn't they? I just don't get what they are thinking. I'd never do that to Peter, even if I'm reduced to a dirty beggar. I'd never abandon my child."

They both fell silent.

"You…" Alfred suddenly spoke, causing the older man to turn to him. After pausing a short while, he continued. "You're a great dad." He uttered.

Arthur smiled. "Thanks. And you… I think you're a great son."

Alfred looked completely taken aback. "What makes you think like that?" He asked in confusion.

"Because I think you are." Arthur laughed.

Alfred blushed, averting his eyes. "Just as I thought… you're weird." He whispered softly.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing!" The younger man quickly said. He suddenly stood, red to his ears. "I-I think I'm going to bed."

"Oh, alright. Good night, Alfred." Arthur said and the boy nodded, vanishing within the corridor.

_What a good boy_, Arthur mused, smiling to himself. He sighed, turning his gaze at the TV screen and slumping into the sofa. So he was reminded of his bleak past, but as he had said, he was no longer bitter about it. His uncle and his wife had poured all of their affection into him that he was able to become a proper man with strong sense of justice. In some way, he had to thank his parents who abandoned him years ago, as ironic as it seemed, if he hadn't been so abused that he ran away, he wouldn't have become who he was today. It was all thanks to his beloved adoptive parents who he had thought as his real parents.

And because of that, he had to do the same thing to Alfred. He truly wished to help that child. Tomorrow, he would go and meet his mother, and see just what kind of person she was. If she didn't meet his expectation or if she clearly said she didn't want Alfred…

Arthur clenched his jaw and tightened his fists. He furrowed his eyebrows in contempt.

…then the war was on.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: As a side note, if the parents are proved abusing their children, then the government will take the children and place them with foster families. But not all foster families are willing to take the children if they misbehave, and often, they'll be passed on to one foster family to another. The government has made the fostering system to help these children, including building child rehabilitation centers to take them in. But as soon as the children turn 18 and age out of the system, they're on their own. Statistics proved that only _two_ out of _ten_ children can succeed in life, while the others became criminals, or died. It is a sad fact, but true. ;-; I am strongly against child abuse! Children should be cared and loved, not hurt. It is very sad that some people just don't' realized how beautiful and precious they are.

Review and tell me what you think? :-)


	3. Reasons and Anger

Warning: R-18 at the end of the chapter. A scene that might offend a lot of people. Pedophilia. Child abuse.

…I wanna cry when I wrote that part, but it was necessary, so… ;A;

**Chapter Three: Reasons and Anger**

First thing in the morning, Arthur made sure he had prepared for everything.

He had called Elizaveta and told her to delay the appointments for the entire day, since he knew the travel to California would take a whole day. He had a very delicious breakfast Alfred cooked for the Kirklands, and the three of them had a delightful morning having the meal together. He had given Alfred some money to buy more clothes since the boy had run out of change clothes, and Arthur's clothes were too small for the still growing boy.

He had kissed the American boy's cheeks (in which Alfred turned into an interesting shade of pink then) and left him to take care of their home. He had also driven Peter to school, and he had kissed him on the cheeks, which the small boy returned the favor by kissing his daddy too. He had his usual wide, bright smile on as he waved at Arthur, quickly turning on his heels and ran towards the school building.

Arthur had arrived at the designated rendezvous point fifteen minutes earlier, in a cafe in the heart of the town, where Arthur and Francis usually met often mostly for business. He had ordered for a cup of Earl Grey tea and he sat on a brown couch, sipping his tea from a pure white porcelain china elegantly. The day was still early, the cafe was emptier than usual. The owner of the cafe smiled at him from across the wooden counter as their gazes met. Arthur smiled back politely, lifting the cup slightly and nodding once. He was a regular, the owner had long remembered his face and name.

The Englishman put down his cup and checked the wristwatch on his right hand, furrowing his eyebrows when he realized Francis was late. Ten minutes had passed since the promised time. Really, he could never trust the Frenchman to be on time. He could just _hear_ Francis's petty excuses for being late when he arrived later on, most of those excuses included a beauty he met at a random bar the night before, and that he had been rather 'preoccupied' as the British man waited for him to appear, with his feet jutting up and down and gritting his teeth. And Arthur would always roll his eyes and tell him to stop _polluting_ his ears with those stories.

A few minutes later, the door bell jingled, then a handsome man with wavy shoulder-length blonde hair rushed in, wearing a more formal but still stylish and expensive outfit, looking rather sweaty and hurried. He spotted the annoyed British man and approached him quickly, an apologetic look on his face. And as he had expected, Francis opened his mouth. "I am _very_ sorry Arthur. I was-"

"Don't say it." Arthur shut him before he could say more. Standing up, Arthur hung a cashmere coat on his right arm, while the left hand picked up the black briefcase. He turned to the baffled Frenchman. "My car's outside. Let's go."

The travel to the airport had been long and monotonous, until Arthur decided to turn on the radio then settled with a punk music channel. (Francis had raised a blonde eyebrow then said, "You still like that unsophisticated music? I thought you've outgrown it." And Arthur had gave him a glare and promptly replied with a dignified "Shut up.")

Arthur had sped up on the highway though not enough to be fined, knowing he had little time to spare. Day-offs were rare for a busy man like him, he could only have them several times within a year, and now he was using one of them in a supposedly busy, work day. He remembered he was going to take another on Peter's birthday too, although a heap of cases and works was waiting for him at the office. Time flew very fast in the big cities, he couldn't afford to waste anymore time.

They arrived at the airport rather quickly, since Arthur had taken a short-cut on the way. He parked his car before resumed entering the airport building. Francis waited for him as he bought the plane tickets. Before he closed his wallet, his emerald green eyes landed upon a picture of him and Peter that was slipped into the wallet. Staring at it briefly, he smiled fondly, wondering if he should put Alfred's picture too later.

He closed it then, striding towards the Frenchman with the tickets in his right hand, thrusting them up into the air to show it to the older blonde. Francis smiled and nodded, then the two lawyers went to catch their flight.

The flight lasted for an hour or so, before they arrived at the Los Angeles International Airport. Without carrying any necessary luggage but their briefcases, Arthur and Francis quickly took a cab and showed the driver the address of Alfred's mother Arthur got from the private investigator he hired. The middle-age Iranian driver took a brief read of the note the Englishman handed, and told them it would take about half an hour to get there. Arthur had nodded and thanked him as he started the engine then drove away.

The city streets were busy and chock-full of people, which was normal since it was during the working hours. Francis was sitting rather comfortably as he made small talks with the Iranian driver, mostly asking about the famous tourist spots or good bars and clubs. Arthur was quiet along the way, staring off at the running town scenery beyond the glass window, his mind was full of thoughts. He had been thinking a lot since last night, about what he would do or say when he met Alfred's mother in person.

He had intended to persuade Alfred's mother into giving up his custody, he had thought of the things he would say to her. He would ask her, kindly and reasonably but persuasively, as he always did in the court, for her to relinquish Alfred. He would try to reason with her, maybe giving some points and facts that Alfred was now staying at his house. He knew she was struggling economically from some of the in-depth documents the investigator supplied him, he knew she was a single mother who didn't have a stable job and had a hard time raising her child. Arthur could use that to his advantage.

But it didn't mean he was going to snatch the boy away from his birthmother. That would be too cruel, but he would make sure she gave him her consent to take care of her son legally, else Arthur would be charged for kidnapping underage children. He knew very well the feelings of a parent, as he too was one. She was Alfred's mother after all, it was impossible to think she did not feel a speck of love towards her child.

Arthur knew because he still remembered well, the sorrowful look on his ex-wife's face and the tears that kept streaming down her cheeks when he won over Peter's custody… although she was married to another man now, she still called Peter every day without fail, it was easier to communicate with him since Arthur had told her the boy's cell numbers. Although they had separated, they still maintained a good relationship, for the sake of their child.

But still, according to the reports he received, it didn't seem that Alfred's mother - her name was Emily Jones - was a bad person. She had a clean record, as far as what he had read last night. Yes, she was married in a very young age, hardly twenty at that time. Her husband and Alfred's birthfather, Jason F. Jones, died when Alfred was still two. Since his death, the mother and the child had to struggle to live, especially since Emily never graduated from high school.

Even then, the investigator found no record of anomaly in Emily's behavior towards her child. He had even investigated and asked their past neighbors and Alfred's teachers, and overall their answers had been the same: Although she was physically weak, she was gentle, a hard worker, and a good mother. And they had said Alfred was always sweet and caring towards his rather sickly mother. They were good mother and child.

Then, why had Alfred left?

Arthur didn't like this. Somehow he had a bad feeling, a hunch that something went very wrong between them. He knew Alfred was a good kid, he wouldn't leave his weak mother for no good reason, and chose to live off of thrashes on the streets. There had to be something that caused them to part ways, something terribly wrong. _But what is it?_ He asked the question again and again, spinning the gears inside his head to find out if he had forgotten something.

Or maybe three days were too short for the Japanese investigator to dig further. He might have missed the crucial information as to why Alfred ran away from home. The reason why instead he stayed in the Kirkland's residence instead of his own, with his mother.

Arthur bit down his lower lip. What was this uncomfortable feeling? He had no idea. But he didn't like the fact that he lacked information. After all, detailed information and facts had always helped him with his job. But he did intend to find out more soon, he would ask Emily what had caused her son to leave the house.

As he made up his mind, the driver had pressed the brake and the Englishman looked at an ordinary house the cab stopped by. It was nothing sort of exquisite or big. It was a small house probably built on low budget, since it was only a two-story building, but with a size enough for only a small family to fit in. After Francis and Arthur got off of the cab, the British man took a careful look at the house. The white walls seemed to be eaten by mosses, and the pain shed away on several parts of the building.

The cramped lawn was far from tidy, with wild weeds growing uncontrollably and overtaking the lawn, in a messy manner. Although it looked so messy, he could see that people still were living within the seedy-looking house. He looked at his right and left, the neighboring houses looked far better than this one. This house looked very out of the place, within all the finely architected housings of the neighborhood.

Francis emerged from the cab window a minute later after paying the fee, taking in the sight of the house on Arthur's side.

"Is this really the place?" He asked in uncertainty, cringing at the sight.

"There's no mistake." Arthur uttered, nodding slightly. "Kiku described the place via phone this morning, though I never thought it'd be this bad…"

The two blondes looked at each other, both nodded before they walked over to the entrance. Arthur gingerly pushed the door bell and waited, staring expectantly at the door as he adjusted his tie. But a minute passed by, and there was no answer. Raising a blonde eyebrow, Arthur pushed the bell again until it rang a faint melody. Then he waited again. But nothing. No sounds of footsteps nor someone's voice. Nothing reply to the bell.

"Looks like no one's home." Francis stated, turning to the British man.

"Perhaps we came in a bad time, it is still the working hours after all." Arthur sighed. How could he forget such a simple thing? He was too lost in thinking of the bigger picture, that little detail escaped him.

Francis rubbed the short stubbles of his chin. "Maybe she is working right now, we just have to find out where and confront her then. Perhaps the neighbors might know?"

"Good idea." Arthur nodded in agreement. "Let's ask around."

The two went to the nearest house, a much nicer Victorian-style house painted in a cheerful color of yellow, with a nicely trimmed lawn and a red sedan was parked outside of the closed garage. This time Francis rang the bell, and soon they could hear the sounds of footsteps approaching the closed white-colored wooden door. "Yes, who is it?" Came a feminine voice of a woman, before the said door swung outward, revealing a brunette in her late thirties, wearing a dark green apron.

"Good morning, Madam. _Excusez moi_. Pardon our intrusion to your lovely home, may I ask for a bit of your time? It won't be long, just for a couple of minutes." Francis started smoothly, earning a curious stare and a raised brow from the Englishman.

"O-Oh, of course, I don't mind." The woman had a blush crept onto her slightly freckled face. Oh what luck she had today, approached by two handsome men! It must be her lucky day.

Francis beamed a charming smile at her, bowing slightly while taking her hand and kissed it. "You're most kind, Madam! May I inquire as to your lovely self's name?"

The woman blushed further until Arthur could feel the heat radiated to him, a happy but shy smile drawn on her face. "Oh my, so bold of you! Please call me Rachel." Then she sidestepped, making room for the two gentlemen to enter. "Please, make yourself at home! My husband is away on a business trip at the moment, he won't be back for a while…" She gazed meaningfully at the Frenchman, who winked seductively in reply.

Arthur promptly _pinched_ Francis's arm at a spot the lady couldn't see. (Francis had covered his yelp of pain by suddenly coughing frantically. Arthur had shot a warning glare at him, mouthing "We're not here for your bloody nether region's _needs_!" in whisper. "I was just trying to help!" Francis defended, his face twisted in pain.)

"Mrs. Jones from the next door?" Rachel had asked, after they had settled themselves comfortably on cream-colored sofas, with two cups of tea served on the table in front of the two men.

"Yes, do you know where she is? We have something important to tell her… it's about her son, Alfred." Arthur decided to tell with a friendly smile, since the brunette woman had a suspicious look on her face. He realized it would only be strange for two men in suit came to ask for a next door neighbor, he assumed it would be best to tell the reason to gain corporation.

As expected, the lady perked up with wide eyes at the mentioned name. "Oh, Alfred! It's been a while since I've seen him! Emily has been devastated since he went missing a few months ago! How is that boy? Is he alright?" He exclaimed, in what seem more like curiosity than worry.

_So she thought he was missing_, Arthur mentally noted, finding the fact to be interesting. They hadn't know that Alfred had actually run away from home. Now he felt more intrigued than before.

"Alfred is fine, Ma'am. We've found him a couple of days ago, now he is staying at our place." He told her, careful as to not tell her more than necessary. He knew how women _loved_ gossip, and that obvious curiosity of a gossiper was leaked out by the gleam of her eyes.

"May I ask for Mrs. Jones' whereabout? I have to tell this news to her personally, regarding Alfred's current condition."

"I see, I see. Oh, are you two cops?" She asked, eying at Francis then at Arthur.

Arthur smiled politely. Perhaps a little lie wouldn't hurt. "No, Ma'am. We're the boy's attorneys. We're here because the authorities suspect that Alfred… had received some kind of abuse at home. We found him living on the streets for months. He told us he left home without his parent's consent and refused to be sent home, but he didn't tell why. Maybe something he can't tell happened to him, that's why we came here to investigate this matter." He explained smoothly, skillfully as to sound like he was telling the whole truth when he wasn't. He was a lawyer after all.

The lady's teal eyes widened slightly. "Oh my! On the streets? That is so horrible! Poor boy!"

"Perhaps Madam knows the reason behind this? We're deeply concerned about this boy, I'm sure anything you tell us will be a key to the boy's salvation." Francis joined in, using the tone of voice he knew well could coax information from any female. "Have you heard or saw something strange or out of the ordinary before Alfred went missing? Like a fight, perhaps?"

The lady gave a thoughtful look. "It's been so long… I'm not sure, but the whole neighborhood knows Alfred doesn't like Emily's new boyfriend."

Arthur perked up suddenly. _His mother's boyfriend?_ That new revelation brought his senses to full attention. "Ma'am, could you please tell us more about this gentleman?" He asked a bit hurriedly, but he couldn't help it. He felt the same uncomfortable feeling he felt before.

"Of course, I'd love to help." The lady nodded.

"About a year ago Emily started dating this guy she met at work. His name is Dave. Dave McGreggor. I don't know the details, but Alfred didn't accept their relationship and they fought in front of the neighborhood the day Emily brought him home to live with them. I thought it was only natural for a boy to dislike his mom's boyfriend, especially because it had always been the two of them before. But Alfred seemed to _hate_ Dave." She told them.

"My windows shook every time they fought, screaming at each other. I think Dave hits Emily, since she always had bandages whenever I saw her, she told me it was because she fell down, but I knew she was lying. Alfred didn't like it, of course, he tried to fight back, but Dave was a big man. Bigger than him and an adult. We had to separate them before Dave send the poor boy to the hospital." She shook her head, staring at her own lap in reminiscent.

"Why haven't they report this _Dave _to the police?" Arthur asked, holding the rage he felt soaring up and surging within his body. He gritted his teeth and clenched his trembling fists tightly, trying to hide his anger, but Francis could see through him. He secretly patted the Englishman's back to soothe him.

"Emily was unemployed then, she was just fired from the family restaurant. Dave owns a car dealer shop, and it's quite successful. She depends on him to provide for her and Alfred, so she couldn't defy him, even if he is abusive. Because she refused to report, we couldn't do anything as well." The lady sighed exasperatedly.

"It went for almost half a year, then Alfred suddenly went missing. I remembered they fought the day before, but it was just a usual fight they had. I didn't know if anything else had happened then, I was busy with something at that moment."

Arthur went silent, lowering his gaze. "I see." Arthur mouthed, still clenching his fists. Francis threw a worried look at the British man. He looked oddly calm, although flame of rage obviously still burning from within. Arthur then lifted his chin and smiled at her. "Thank you for telling us, Ma'am. This information is very important to us." He said in gratitude, before turning to the Frenchman, who seemed to understand the meaning behind the stare, he turned to the lady then.

"Thank you for your corporation and hospitality, Madam. But I'm afraid it is time for us to leave and continue with our investigation." He smiled, before the both of them stood up.

"Yes, of course! I am happy to help." The lady of the house stood as well. Then she glanced meaningfully at the Frenchman. "If you have more questions, I would be more than happy to answer… maybe over a cup of coffee?"

"Why, it would be my pleasure to - I mean, until next time." Francis quickly changed the statement when the Englishman had secretly stomped at his foot hard.

"The tea is delicious, it has been very kind of you, Ma'am. But we must go now." Arthur smiled charmingly, the sole of his shoe still on Francis's foot.

A while later, Arthur had bade farewell to the next door Lady while dragging Francis away from the lady's eagle-like eyes to see. He dragged him to a certain secluded spot where most of the people in the neighborhood couldn't see, but not far from the Jones residence.

"Why are we leaving so soon? We haven't even get the answer for Mrs. Jones' whereabouts!" Francis has asked exasperatedly, running a hand through blonde tresses. "And after _all_ the trouble I went through to gain her trust…"

"Oh, _sod off,_ Francis. You know you did that for your own personal pleasure. Do you think after fifteen years I've known you I wouldn't know? When you're not thinking with your _brain_, you think with your _privates_." Arthur eyed disgustedly at the older blonde. "And besides, I wanted to leave early because I want to test something."

Francis raised a fine brow. "Test something?"

Arthur nodded. "I have a hunch. I need to know what kind of person this 'Dave' is."

"A hunch, huh." Francis uttered, scratching the back of his nape. "How are we going to do that? Meet him in private?"

The Englishman shook his head. "There's no need for that. People like that are good at hiding things. It'll take too much time to try to make him talk, else accusing him will only get us a night behind the bars. I have better ideas." His right hand went for his pocket and fished out a BlackBerry cell, pushing the buttons and then bringing it to his ear.

"Hello? Kiku? It's Arthur. Yes. Yes, I'm in the neighborhood now. Yes, it's just like what you told me. In fact, I learned about something missing from your file. No, no. It's alright, I know I pushed you too much, it's only been three days, it's only natural you'd miss some things. Besides, I've found the crucial info just a while ago." He soothingly said.

"Yes. Oh, I know this is sudden, but can you do me one more favor? I need you to check in the database for a man by the name 'Dave McGreggor', Male. Probably between forty to fifty of age. Yes, he's American, he lives in California, Los Angeles. See if he has some records. Yes, I only want you to do that. But if you find other odd information about this man, tell me about it. Yes, thank you Kiku, sorry for bothering you. Call me when you find something, okay? Thanks again." He hung up the call and placed it inside his suit pocket again, turning to the Frenchman.

"Let's go." He said.

Without further ado, the British lawyer went back to the big road, then continued striding towards the Jones' residence. Francis, although still puzzled by the Englishman's lack of explanation, followed him anyway. Soon they were standing before the house again. Arthur turned his head right and left, he scanned the surroundings and the seemingly empty neighborhood. There weren't any passersby or car, probably at their homes, having lunch.

Arthur smiled, satisfied of what he saw, before he walked towards the messy lawn. Francis had thought the British man would attempt to go ring the bell and wait for a nonexistent inhabitant to open the door, much to his surprise, when Arthur instead kept walking past the balcony and went further into the lawn, heading for the back lawn of the house. The Frenchman dropped his jaw slightly. _What is he doing?_ He snapped out of his surprise when he saw Arthur glanced over his shoulder and gestured for him to follow, in which Francis, although he didn't know what his partner intended on doing, tailed him again.

Francis kept quiet as they circled the house, sneaking into the back lawn carefully, soundlessly. He didn't say anything when Arthur approached the back door of the house, finding it was locked. But he did raise a voice when Arthur asked if he had any _hairpin_.

"Okay. Tell me what in the world you have in that pretty head of yours." He demanded in whisper, hands in akimbo. Then he realized, why should he whispering? He wasn't a thief who snooped around trying to get into a house when the residents weren't around! He was a proud French lawyer. He wouldn't do such things as -

Arthur cast him an annoyed glare. "We're going in."

Francis gaped like a fish. "We're _what_? - Arthur, have you gone _mad_? You know very well that is a crime, to bust into a person's private residence without his or her permission!"

"Of course I know that. But I can't afford to waste anymore time, we have to solve this as soon as possible. When I got home, I'd have other works to do. I won't be able to go and talk to his mother anytime soon." Arthur debated. "Now give me your hairpin."

Francis shook his head. "If that's the case, why are we here? Why don't we go again and ask Rachel where his mother is right now? Why are we, instead of doing what mature, responsible, well-educated adults would do, of all things, s_neaking around her house_?" He gave out a deep, heavy sigh of exasperation and confuse. "_Angleterre_, I truly don't know what you are thinking right now. Please do enlighten me."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "Don't call me that. Francis, you of all people, should know very well that persuasion is one of the strongest point that leads us to success in our field of work, aside of having good speaking skill. I have the very intention to talk and persuade Mrs. Jones into letting me take Alfred in. But strong persuasion needs evidence. Trustworthy, solid proofs." He uttered, looking straight at Francis's eyes.

"I am lacking of proofs, Francis. I've read about this woman and found her to be _absolutely_ clean, I also have the testimonies of her neighbors and also Alfred's teachers. She is clean, Francis. Kiku is a skilled investigator whom I've been working with for _years_. He always provide trustworthy information to me, and that is one of the factors I always win my cases. When he said he finds no anomaly about her, that means the truth. The only abnormal fact he found is her health." He stopped, breathing in.

"She is diseased. So why did Alfred run away? Why did he run away when his mother is physically weak and needs him to support her? I've only known the kid for several days, but I can tell that he's a good kid. He even saved my son, Francis, even when he was hungry and weak, he shielded my child with his own body. A child whom he had no relation with! When I heard about this 'Dave', I knew something went terribly wrong, and I need to know what happened. That boy will become my son. I need to know what horrible things this man did to him. What kind of beast he is, I need to know." Francis saw Arthur clenched his fists so tightly, it started to tremble. His emerald green eyes shone in anger and hatred.

"And I'll make sure he will pay for what he did to him."

Witnessing the rage showed on the Englishman's face and his trembling fists, Francis realized that Arthur had been trying to keep his composure in front of a stranger, when in fact, he was outraged when he heard Alfred had been beaten only because he wanted to protect his mother. But he tried to be professional. He was a lawyer, and a lawyer always kept his calm whenever he was facing a client. But he was a human.

He was a human first before he was a lawyer. A human who felt anger, hatred, and sadness. Arthur was just an ordinary man who would be angry occasionally, and because of reasonable things. He should know better, being friends with the Englishman for more than ten years, that even after all those years, Arthur still possessed that short-temper issue. He wasn't one you want to make an enemy.

"I get it." Francis finally said, giving up. He couldn't possibly stop an angry Arthur, he had tried that once before, and ended up with a dislocated jaw and a broken nose. "I get it, I'll help you, okay? I'll see to it that he gets what he deserves too." A hand went to the back of his neck, pulling out a black, thin pin that kept his hair tidy.

"Thanks." Arthur uttered as he received the offered pin, then he bended the iron pin slightly, working on the lock after.

"…by the way, how did you know I use hairpins?"

"Because you grow your hair like a girl, I assumed you always have one with you."

"I see… wait, did you just say I _look_ like a girl?"

"What, you don't know that you do?"

"Why you - "

_Click_

"It's open."

The blonde Frenchman immediately stuck his head onto Arthur's shoulder and saw that the door had indeed swung inward slightly. "_Oh mon dieu_." He commented. "Just where did you learn such handy tricks?" He glanced at the Brit, who smiled mischievously.

"Try experience living on the streets, and you'll naturally learn it." He answered, thrusting the pin towards the Frenchman.

"After you used it for crime? No thank you. I don't want to be accused for _your_ doing." He chuckled softly, Arthur laughed too.

The two went inside after that. As soon as they entered, they reached the kitchen. Arthur screened the whole room, and opened several drawers. He found nothing out of ordinary there, aside the fact that the fridge was very empty of anything else but cans of beer that filled it to the brim. Francis checked the others, including the trash bin, but he too found nothing significant. After finding nothing, they moved on to the next room.

They entered the living room, Arthur immediately cringed his nose in disgust as thick scent of cigarette and something rotten lingered in the thin air. The whole room was a mess. Cigarette butts made a huge pile on a bowl of what seemed to be a bowl of noodles, clothes stank of sweat were scattered on the floor, on the TV, on the couch, and on the table. Empty cans of beer being left on the table, with the dried up spilt coating the wooden and glass table, as well as the floor beneath it.

Chinese takeouts with half of its contents had been ruined and giving out rotten smell. The two reluctantly checked around, checking each one of them with only a thumb and an index finger. Francis suddenly squeaked out loud when he found used condoms hidden beneath the couch cushion. They went through with the search, with obvious disgusted look on their faces, but still they found nothing else that lived up to their expectation, neither did those things were useful enough to serve as evidence.

"For once, now we know that this Dave man is as tidy as a pig." Francis uttered, promptly wiping his hands with a perfumed handkerchief to get rid of the smells of the 'things' he touched.

Arthur shrugged. "I can't agree more."

After several failed searches, they went upstairs. There was a narrow corridor with two doors on their right, one on their left, arranged in a zigzag pattern. Francis and Arthur decided to split, Francis took the nearest door to the right, while Arthur opened the only door to the left.

He arrived inside a rather small bedroom. The light blue-painted walls were filled with posters of basketball athletes, rock bands, an American flag, and a calendar with pictures of beautiful women in bikini. A lone, tidy single bed was placed at one side of the room, filling the space from wall to wall, while a wooden drawer was put right next to the exit, a gap existed in between the drawer and the bed, a well-polished guitar that was put against the drawer filled in the gap. Across the drawer, facing right to the unbound casement, there was a table, with a few books and stationaries scattered on the surface, only an exception for an ipod that was left at the corner. There was a red bag hung by the chair. It was a typical room for a teenager.

Arthur screened the whole room, taking a step forward in each time his gaze turned. It must be Alfred's room, he concluded, idly sweeping an index finger across the table. There was a reasonably thick layer of dust on his finger, a proof that the room wasn't used for a while. His emerald gaze fell upon a particular photo frame placed on the table, a bit hidden behind a pile of magazines. He took the stack and put it on the other side, before taking the frame and bringing it closer. The glass covering was a bit dusty, but he could see clearly the picture it protected.

It was a picture of two happy couple, with a small toddler sitting in between the two, blue eyes stared curiously at the camera while his parents each held his hands, seemingly waving them in the air. The man was young, about Arthur's age, he was a blue-eyed blonde with a charming smile Arthur thought resembled someone. The woman seemed gentle and her face glowed kindness, she had dark hair and green eyes, with a bit of freckles spread across the bridge of her nose. And the boy looked exactly like his father, with his eyes as brilliant blue and hair as mesmerizing dusty golden. It was like Arthur was seeing both a more mature and a more childish versions of Alfred. It was clear that this was a family photo.

His eyes were fixated at the woman, Emily Jones. "So this is how she looks like." He mumbled.

The files Kiku gave him didn't include in her photo, so he was curious as how she looked like. She looked like an ordinary woman, just as what the Japanese investigator had told him. At first glance, she seemed fine. So the problems might really lie in the man who ruined the peace of this family, the man whom Arthur had yet to know his face. But had intended to, if he wanted to put him behind the bars.

As Arthur put down the frame, Francis suddenly appeared by the door with laboring breaths, his face twisted in seriousness. "Arthur, you got to see this. I found something disturbing in the next room." He uttered, panting softly.

Curious, Arthur quickly followed the Frenchman into the mentioned room, quickly taking in the sight of a slightly bigger room than where he had been, and a double bed at the other side of the room. He assumed it was Alfred's mother's bedroom, seeing there was a dressing table and a rather big wardrobe right across the bed. But the odd thing was, a tripod was set and stood right in between the furniture, and a camera was placed facing the untidy bed. The sheets were wrinkled and half of the satin cover fell to the floor, he also noticed cigarette butts piling up in a bowl. This room was a much better version of the living room, but still messy.

Meanwhile Arthur was inspecting the room with observing eyes, Francis had taken the camera off of the tripod, approaching the British man. "Look." He uttered, thrusting the digital camera towards Arthur so both of them could see, then Francis pushed the play button.

The small screen immediately showed an image of the same bed in the room. Emerald eyes snapped wide open when Arthur saw a brunette boy was sitting on the middle of the bed, he was wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs and equally white socks, his brown eyes were staring curiously at the camera. The record was poor in quality, as it was amateur video, but Arthur could see it clearly that the boy was no older than ten years old. Both of him and Francis were quiet as they watched. The boy seemed puzzled but curious at the same time as he opened his mouth.

_"Mr. McGreggor, what are we doing? Where's the games?"_

_"Soon, Andrew, soon. I'll give you some sweets and let you play later, okay? Let me finish this first."_

The deep and hoarse voice of a man said. Then he resumed.

_"Now, dear Andrew. Spread your legs real good, okay? I'll give you lots and lots of candies."_

And Arthur suddenly felt sick in the pit of his stomach, a wave of nausea slowly surging up and spread out from within his body. He felt like vomiting. The horrible feelings only got stronger and stronger as the video went on, as if his stomach was twisting from the insides. Then his eyes snapped open again when the man finally emerged into the scene, a big, fat and disgustingly hairy man wearing only boxers and white singlet approached the oblivious boy, Arthur could see his face clearly.

_"Come on, Andy, don't be scared…"_

_"No… it feels weird, Mr. McGreggor! Why are you touching that? I dun' wanna pee."_

_"It's okay, it's okay… it's just a medical examination, okay? We're playing doctor. See? Does it feel good?"_

_"It feels weird… what are you doing? I'm scared."_

_"No, no. It's nothing to be scared of. After this, I'm going to let you play as much as you like, okay?"_

_"…b-but… mommy said I can't eat or play too much..."_

_"It's okay, Andy, this is going to be a secret only the two of us know. It's alright… there… it feels good, right?"_

"Enough."

Arthur couldn't take it anymore, turning his head away while placing a hand over his eyes.

Francis obliged, for he felt the same way as Arthur. He turned off the camera, eyebrows furrowed deeply. Fuck, so this was what it was all about, Arthur cursed mentally, over and over again, screwing his eyes shut. A pedophile. A Goddamned, sick pedophile. And this monster had been living with them for months? Arthur gritted his teeth, feeling much worse rage smoldering and gnawing at his insides. That boy was about the same age as _his_ Peter! For God's sake, if it had been Peter who was in that video, Arthur would've torn the man shred to shred with his own hands, he could've cared less of the punishments for that, even five hundred years behind the bars would worth it.

"Arthur." Francis pulled him from his thoughts. The Frenchman was standing by a closet, holding up a cardboard box. "I found these too."

_More! There are more?_ Arthur mentally screamed when he saw there was a big stack of video tapes stuffed neatly into the box. After he saw the recording, Arthur had a guess what was inside the videos. Francis was eying at him with worried look on his face, unsure if he should show them to Arthur, who had a terribly grim look on his face as if someone had just died, and yet he knew Arthur was trying to hold in the anger. But he also knew the Englishman had a better self-control now than he had years ago, and if they wanted to make the videos solid evidence, they had to watch them first to be sure.

"There's a TV and a video player downstairs in the living room. We can watch these there." Francis uttered carefully, glancing the younger man. "Arthur, are you sure you're okay?"

"I am certain." He had responded calmly, in complete contrast as what he was feeling in the inside.

Francis was unconvinced, but knew he could say nothing more. "If you say so."

They went downstairs and swept off the trashes covering the top of the video player and the couch to find the remote. After giving another unsure glance at the seemingly calm and serious British man, Francis took a random tape from the box and pushed it into the player. Almost immediately, the previously blank black screen turned into a moving image. Francis's eyes went wider than he thought they could, jaws dropping slightly. Arthur's emerald eyes widened and he held his breath.

A teenage boy with fiery red hair. Probably fifteen years old or so. On all fours, bare as the day he was born. He was blindfolded. Behind him, the very same man was hovering above him, moving in what seem to be the most disgusting rhythm Arthur had ever seen. The boy was moaning, panting, crying. And that man, Dave McGreggor, was riding him like a dog in heat. The scene was so abhorrently graphic, with no pixels to cover anything. It went on and on like some kind of a home-made porn video.

"This is sick…" Francis uttered, face paling. He had averted his gaze and shut his eyes, not daring to see more. When he heard no respond from the younger man, he turned sharply, afraid Arthur had lost it. But to his surprise, the British man had stood up, holding his cell against his ear, talking in an unnatural calmness when his green eyes gleamed in anger.

"…hello. It's me, Kiku. Yes, I know I just called you a little while ago. I want you to stop what you're doing right now, and do something quickly, as soon as I hang up this call. Yes, it is urgent. I believe you have connections with the Federal Police? I'd like you to contact their office in Los Angeles and ask them to charge the man I asked you to investigate, for pedophilia, child abuse, and sexual harassment. Yes, Dave McGreggor. And I have the proofs. I'll hand my phone to my partner, so tell them to come to the Jones' residence address. His name is Francis Bonnefoy. He'll be waiting there with the evidence. Please be quick, Kiku. Yes, yes. Thank you very much. You're always a great help." Then he hung up the call, before hurling the cell towards the stunned Frenchman, who caught it rather clumsily.

Francis stared at the cell, then lifted up his head towards the British man.

"Arthur what are you - Arthur! Where are you going? _Arthur_!"

* * *

Finding the place had been easy enough, as it was only fifteen minutes from the neighborhood and the local people all knew the location. Arthur got off the cab, looking up at the gaudy red board of "Dave's Cars" on top of a red pole. There was an small building painted in the same color, right across an extensive land of parked used cars. Without further ado, Arthur paid for the cab ride then entered nonchalantly into the building. He screened the room that was only filled with a few people, then he found the person he was looking for, sitting on a brown couch at a corner, talking with someone.

Arthur strode towards him, ignoring a salesgirl who was offering him her services, then he stopped in front of the man, right across the table.

"Are you Dave McGreggor?" He asked in an obvious contempt.

The bigger man with half-bald head turned to him with small beady eyes, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm Dave. Who the hell are you?"

"Your worst nightmare."

Before he knew it, Arthur had planted a fist to his left cheek.

* * *

TBC

* * *

Updated Author's Note:

**Beware of Spoiler and rants: **Oh**, **for God's sake (and for my sanity), NO. I am not going to start with the USUK when Alfred is still underage (by all means he will be 18 or up when he's with Arthur). This story will have a long timeline in which will be going for about five years until the end, since I will be putting **a lot** of family stories inside. Oh God, please don't say "But Arthur will be a pedo too" anymore, because God forbids, bluntly said, I **do not** think lightly of pedophilia. It is a crime. Whatever the reason may be. I love and respect children too much to ever engage them in a sexual relationship with a much older person, even though there is love concerned. Because I think if that person truly loves that kid, he/she would wait until that kid's at an appropriate age! (if they only love the kid because he/she **is** a _kid_, that's not normal, everyone grows out of their childhood!)

Up to this chapter, Arthur's still 27 and Alfred's 17. If you think 10 years of age difference is pedophilia, ask my mom and dad who're 10 years apart in age. No one's **ever** called him a pedo, that's for sure.

I can't even bare to see shotacon, how can I write it? No, I can't. That's what I mean. I'm not trying to offend anybody, but this story will be based on reality and reality only, although it is fiction. I'm not going to write something like "Oh, pedophilia is good, so you can do it however you like since you both love each other." No, it doesn't work that way in the real world. Don't ever say things like "Arthur's a pedophile" because I love this character, and I'd take that as you insulting him. Yes, this story will have a 100% guarantee, definite happy ending. I don't read/do tragedies, you can look for other authors who do them if you don't like it. I'd love to see my fave characters happy, thank you. (Yes, dear **Red Hot Holly Berries**, I know how you feel) And yes, I wrote this as quickly as I could because I wanted to clear this one misunderstanding (as I wasn't able to concentrate on my hell-there's-so-many-of-them assignments with this thing stuck in my head). I can never write shotacon or pedophilia. I don't want to try it, and I don't like it. And I don't want to hear anymore mention about Arthur being a pedophile, because he is not. You'll understand as the story unfolds.

**One more thing:** I am able to write this kind of things because I am mature enough to differentiate between right and wrong. I am 19, that's why I put on the R-18 warning in this chapter. It is legal for me to write stories with mature contents simply because I am lawfully and mentally aware of what I write, what kind of issues I apply into my stories and how sensitive they are, and what **consequences**/**effects** they have for the people who read them. If you, by all means, are not mentally mature enough to read this kind of heavy story (as it is filled with mature contents in non-sexual way and really, really sensitive issues) and not able differentiate what is wrong and what is right, leave. I **do not **want to mislead children into thinking that pedophilia is good. I'd even go as far as to **delete** the whole story if I found my readers think that pedophilia is _fine_, and that is because they read this story. Oh,for_ God's sake, _I'd kill myself if that happens.


	4. Hell Hath no Fury

2nd A/N: dunno why, but FF makes the link to the 4th chapter vanishes somehow. I've replaced it, hope it shows now.

A/N: Yesh, it's been a _while. D:_

A long time ago, I read this book that is based on the author's real experience as an abused child, a novel titled "A Child Called 'it' ". After I read it, it stays in my mind for years later, even now. :(

Warning: Domestic violence, language.

**Chapter Four: Hell Hath no Fury Like a Man Scorned**

When that large pot of searing hot boiling water, with its bubbles of white steam still filling the tin pot to the brim, was poured onto his exposed bare back, the boy screamed, as if flame itself had settled on his small body.

It was painful. Unimaginably painful. The boiling water burned his pale, thin skin mercilessly into a color of deep beet red. He could feel his eyes grew hot as the both of his emerald eyes spilled more tears, his nose running. His throat was sore and hurt, but he couldn't help but to scream, and scream, and scream some more, until he could taste blood in the back of his throat.

But he knew, he knew if he screamed, he would only get a more painful punishment. He knew his father didn't like it when he made a sound during his 'punishment' time, because the neighbors could hear him. So to muffle his scream, the boy brought his arm to his mouth and bit down hard onto his own flesh until it bleed thick, deep red fluid, while squeezing his tearful, blood-shot eyes shut.

Endure it, the boy taught wordlessly. The heat will soon cool down as soon as his father had emptied the pot. He knew he could endure it. He had to. He was a tough boy, a man must be able to take anything, even if it hurt. That was what his father told him.

Just as he had predicted, after the pot emptied out on himself, it left the boy's back an angry, ugly color of red in contrast of the previously white pale color, its skin seemed to peel off on its own on several parts of the back, showing bits of the flesh underneath the burned layer of skin.

The boy gasped harshly, his small shoulders shook violently as he struggled to fight the pain of the aftermath, eyes clamped shut as he tasted his own blood. He cried back hurt, it felt as if something stabbed him from behind with a thousand needles.

He couldn't understand why his father was so angry that he punished him. Was it because he forgot to do his homework today? Maybe… maybe that was it. He had done something very bad. He had been a bad boy, that was why he was being punished.

He could hear his father said something to him, but the child couldn't hear him well. His mind was blurry from the pain, he couldn't think anymore.

In his mind, he prayed from the bottom of his heart, he prayed to Jesus to please, please release him from this pain, please make his father not angry anymore. He knew he had been a bad boy, but he promised to be good. He wouldn't be bad anymore, so please… Please save him.

But his prayer was unanswered.

After what seemed to be an endless moment, his father was finished with him, he left the boy alone as he lied there on the cold, hard floor of the kitchen, motionless. His burned back was still in a red color that was turning purplish, his left eye was deeply swollen, bluish black bruises covered all over his pale body, his lips cut, his right arm was bitten and bloody. He couldn't' move a limb.

It seemed he was still alive, the child thought, as he stared blankly at the legs of the dining table and chairs with his only healthy eye. He could only hear the sound of the ticking clock on the wall. He felt painful all over, from head to toe, especially his back that still felt like it was on fire. His swollen left eye ached, he could barely see with it, but his right eye could still see clearly although a bit blurry. His throat felt so sore from screaming and crying. But at least, he was still alive.

Then in his absent state of mine, he caught a glimpse of a pair of feet from the gaps of the wooden legs of the table and chairs, across of him. His eyes went up in response.

It was his mother.

She was standing by the door, staring down at him with shock written all over her face. Her brown eyes were widened. The boy felt glad when he saw his mother. Mom, he tried to call her, but found his throat was hurting so bad that he couldn't make a sound.

"Mom help me." He tried to speak, but only broken mumbles escaped his cut lips.

He stared pleadingly at his silent mother, who had been doing nothing but stare at him back. The child tried to get up, but it was extremely hard for him to move without feeling the pain on his whole body forcing him to stay still. Then he realized it was a futile attempt to get up on his own. He needed his mother.

"M…mom… h …elp…" He coughed out hoarsely, his limp hands tried to reach out to his mother.

But his mother did nothing.

Her eyes dropped as she chose to look away from the beaten form of her son. Then, she slowly turned around on her heels, before she vanished behind the wall.

The boy was still and silent, as he stared at where his mother's feet stood.

A drop of tear dripped down across the bridge of his nose.

He wondered why.

He wondered why he kept on getting such cruelty from his dad, when other children's dads were so different. Those questions rang within his mind. Why did his dad keep punishing him for faults he didn't remember of having done, or for even the smallest mistake he made? Why was he always yelling at him, then beating him until he couldn't move anymore? Why… why had his mother done nothing despite knowing everything? Why...? Why, God?

What did he do to deserve this?

* * *

"Kirkland, your bailer's here!"

Arthur's gaze went up from his clenched fists on his lap to the big, middle-aged officer in the cell entrance, but didn't immediately react. The officer's thick black mustache twitched as he eyed around the cramped, yet crowded cell, he didn't seem to know which one out of five men resided there was the man in question. With his hands akimbo and puffy chest braced forward to show authority, he called out again, in a louder voice this time.

"Arthur Kirkland! You're out! Kirkland!"

Sighing, the british man in question did stand up from the hard iron bunk he was sitting on, feeling his head slightly hurt from all the yelling the cop did. He ignored the gazes of the other four inmates as he strode towards the waiting officer.

"Yes, I heard you, officer. I'm Arthur Kirkland." He firmly said.

The cop examined him from head to toe, before sidestepping to give Arthur some space to leave the molding cell. As the British man took a step out, a call of his name took his attention and he glimpsed to his right. He soon took in the sight of his working partner, Francis, waiting by the cell meanwhile leaning casually against an unpainted wall of the cells hall. The Frenchman winked once at him and gave him a two-finger greeting.

Without further ado, Francis approached Arthur and put an arm around the grouchy man. "You look awful." He pointed at Arthur's slightly bruised left cheek and split lips.

"How does it feel being behind the bars? Is it exciting?" He whispered jokingly, glancing at the four mean-looking roughnecks that were Arthur's former inmates. Then he winked at them.

"…it smells like rat's arse." Arthur nonchalantly answered, as he began walking along the hallway, guided by another officer. "I beg that you will not try to woo these people. They are genuine criminals. They'll eat you up if you drop your guard around them."

"Sounds marvelous." Francis said in a sing-song voice.

This unnatural behavior Francis displayed did make Arthur wonder. He knew no matter how care-free and immoral the Frenchman was, as a lawyer, he never took law matters lightly. Especially now that he had witnessed Arthur's unlawful behavior, despite being a lawyer himself, and that he had stained his squeaky-clean criminal record with a single, deep black blot.

This overly cheerful act was a bit dismaying. However, it was until a number fake pleasantries later, after they had filled the necessary arrangements of Arthur's bail and both of them had left the building safely, in an alley where people rarely passed by, did Francis finally dropped his act.

"Are you out of your mind?" the Frenchman started, his face twisted in exhaustion, his back leaning against the damp, moldy wall of the shady alleyway. His hands were busy lighting a cigar he quickly pulled out of a Dunhill box.

"Do you understand how hard it was to explain why you hit that man? I even had to tell them you were _drunk_! We're in another state! I can't back you out every time you did something… _spontaneous_." His words came out in a pure rush of panic, as he tried to light his cigar failingly.

Arthur, who had already gotten his stuff back including his own favorite brand of cigarettes, was blowing grey smoke quietly. He seemed serene despite Francis' obvious display of anxiety.

Francis took longer to finally able to light up his cigar, he inhaled deeply then blew the smoke through his nostrils and slightly opened mouth. The Frenchman looked calmer now. With furrowed eyebrows, he brought up two digits to massage his suddenly aching temples.

"Arthur," He called out, more softly this time, glancing at the younger man on his left. "I understand your anger. I really do. I loathe that son of a bitch too, but we can't take matters to our hands directly. You shouldn't have punched him and got arrested in result. You're making things more complicated."

The British man, who was preciously staring up at the morning sky from the tight gap of two separate buildings, now had dragged his gaze down to his feet, as he blew smoke through his nose. His golden brows furrowed as he gritted his teeth. "I know I chose the wrong move." He admitted through gritted teeth.

"But… but I can't stand it. The fact that disgusting man is still roaming around, freely, while numerous children were dirty and soiled and hurt by such… such monster." He clenched his eyes shut, feeling rage still smoldering within his ribcage. He brought a hand to hide his face while he slumped to his feet, clenching his teeth almost painfully.

"I'm a parent. I'm a father to a six-year old child. I know how it feels when their parents know about this. If they know their children had been treated like… like _that_. I know I'm a lawyer. I'm supposed to be the neutral party, I should only act in the court and do whatever in my power to ensure those kinds of people get what they deserve but I… I just thought not even prison would suffice for that filthy man. And I didn't want to wait and let another child be ruined again. I certainly don't want it to be my child. When I saw him, I saw red. I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't control my body."

Arthur's voice was trembling, both by rage and hatred so deep. He felt it burned him from inside out. "And I…" He paused, unsure.

"…at that time I wanted to kill him."

That man, Dave McGreggor's face appeared in his mind. He could still feel his fists punching away at his sweaty, greasy flesh. He could still smell the iron scent of his blood. The pained screams that teared out of his throat, at the top of his lungs. It had felt so good. So good. At that time he was… he was overjoyed, but still unsatisfied, because Dave McGreggor deserved much worse for what he did to those kids. Arthur wanted him to feel the hurt and shame he inflicted upon his victims, but much much worse. He wanted him to die, hundreds of times over.

He felt a mad joy overcoming his senses at the thought, and when he managed to injure the man. The feelings grew tenfold.

Arthur was scared of that side of him. It was as if… he had become someone else. And it frightened him to no end.

"Arthur…" Francis called out, sounding worried.

The Englishman was silent, a hand enclosed his eyes as his head faced up, while the cigarette in his other hand started to burn away and ashes fell onto the muddy ground. The Frenchman found himself at loss of words. He didn't know what to say, as he as well could understand Arthur's rage, but at the same time he could still use some common sense even though he was angry.

Arthur had always been a bit grumpy and sometimes short-tempered, but not to the point he would assault people on petty reasonings. But then again this Dave matter was no small matter. It certainly had intimidated his worst side. They were attending the same university, years ago. Francis was a senior at that time, and his dad and Arthur's adoptive father were close friends, so he had known the boy even before day one Arthur entered university as a freshman.

Nevertheless he knew the Englishman for the longest time, he knew of his dark past, of his abusive father and unprotecting mother. He knew even though Arthur was young he had gone through so much that it had brought him his overly mature personality. He was clever and calm, at the first glance he seemed to be the type to never use violence to solve his problems. But they were wrong. He was wrong.

At his second year, Arthur had sent six members of a biker gang to the hospital for attempting to harass his girlfriend when they were on a date, they said he took them all alone, although in the end he was injured too. Francis was shocked, as everyone else did. That was the first time he learned of Arthur's violent side. A side only few close people had known. From that, he had gotten a rather huge amount of admiration and fear from his friends and colleagues. But Francis had always been more than a little afraid of that.

Of course, years of knowing him as friends and co-workers, Francis had witnessed few of those very rare moments when Arthur snapped. But he didn't think Arthur realized his particular violent outburst until the moment he assaulted Dave.

"Arthur… Arthur, I think you should go home for today. You're tired. Go home and take a rest. I'll take care of this matter." Francis suggested, honestly worried.

"No." Arthur shook his head. "I haven't seen her yet, I haven't met Alfred's mother. She has to know what that dog has done, I must make sure she will not be harmed again, Alfred… would want that. I have to help his mother get away from that monster."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

With that answer, Francis didn't try to convince Arthur further, knowing it would be useless.

The younger man bit down on his lower lip as he exhaled the smoke. He had stayed in jail for the whole night, wasting his precious time. It was still early, however he had told Elizaveta that he would be back at the office by nine o'clock, but now that unexpected things happened, Arthur had to cancel today's appointments too. He clucked his tongue in annoyance.

He then dropped his already burnt cigar to the ground and stepped on it, turning to the Frenchman. "Francis, give me back my cellphone please." He extended his hand towards the other blonde.

Francis rummaged through the inner pocket of his suit and fished out Arthur's cell, which the latter man accepted in gratitude. Arthur pressed on speed-dial to his home first, he waited until he heard a familiar voice across the line, it must be Alfred. After he heard Arthur's voice the boy was surprised and asked some questions of Arthur's whereabout in a somewhat frantic way. Arthur apologized that he hadn't called earlier, then he told Alfred he couldn't come home yesterday because of some urgency, but he told him he would come home by the evening. Alfred had understood.

Arthur asked Alfred to do some chores and for him to take care of Peter until he got back, he also told him to use the ATM card Arthur gave Alfred if he needed anything. Alfred complied without further ado, telling Arthur to take care during his trip. The Englishman smiled at this, and responded in the same gesture. The call didn't last long, as Arthur felt he could trust the boy to take care of Peter.

Next, Arthur pressed another speed-dial to his secretary's cellphone, then waited until the dial tone ended and a familiar gentle voice of a woman greeted him politely.

"Good morning. Elizaveta? It's Arthur Kirkland. I'm sorry I'm bothering you so early in the morning, but I must inform you first. I think I can't make it to the office today. Could you cancel today's appointments and move them to Sunday? Yes. Yes. Thank you, Elizaveta, again I'm sorry I'm bothering you. Yes. Good day to you too." Then he hung up the call.

"What did Eliza say?" Francis asked.

"She understands. But I feel bad that she has to call all of the clients to delay their appointments in my stead, this will surely tarnish my reputation by a tad bit." Arthur replied, sighing softly meanwhile staring at the screen of his Blackberry. Then he turned to Francis.

" 'Eliza'…? Don't tell me you're hitting on my staff too?" Green eyes narrowed suspiciously at the ever-womanizing Frenchman.

Francis only laughed. "How I wish! Whenever I tried to, she always turned me down coldly, not even showing interest!"

"Of course she won't fall for your schemes. Elizaveta is engaged. Her fiance is a pleasant and respectable man, the complete opposite of you. She's a decent girl."

"…but her eyes change whenever she saw you and I together… or any man who was with another man in that matter, she's a bit strange…"

"What did you say?"

"Uuh, no. Nothing."

Arthur rose a disbelieving brow, but decided to shrug it off. "I should call Kiku and apologize too. I've been nothing but trouble to him because of my lack of better judgement… I might've gone overboard this time." Arthur said, guilt rising in his chest. He had done nothing but reckless things since yesterday, even involving other people into his personal life., including Francis and Kiku.

"Oh, don't worry, he understood." Francis told him. "He knew something was up, after you stormed out for Dave so he called you cell and I picked it up. I told him what happened, so he didn't do what you've asked him to do. You do know why."

"Yes, I know." Arthur said in a soft voice. "I should've known evidence taken without a warrant couldn't be used in the court. I was just… I couldn't think straight at that time." He admitted, clenching his fists.

Francis sighed. "You're lucky you had me with you. Else, McGreggor could go off free. You have to deal with your anger issues, Arthur."

"I probably should, after we got back." The younger man agreed. "But for now, we have to find Alfred's mother first. And about that bastard…" Arthur halted his sentence, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

"I mean, about Dave McGreggor, he's going to sue, isn't he?"

Francis nodded. "You bet he will, you got the guy taken to the hospital! Remind me to never make you angry."

Arthur snickered. "Noted. I probably should cover his medical expenses… I don't want to spend money on that man, but if I don't it'll get more troublesome." He sighed, feeling no guilt at all for having caused several damages to that disgusting man, after all he deserved worse.

Sighing, Arthur took off his jacket and let it hung on his arm, while he tried to adjust his loose tie. "I guess it can't be helped, let's go find that bloody git."

"Oh no, you don't have to."

The Englishman was about to step out of the narrow alley and get a cab, when Francis' last statement piqued his interest, he turned to him half-way around, raising an eyebrow. "…what do you mean I don't have to?" He became even more suspicious when a devious smile adorned Francis' handsome face. It struck him immediately, that the Frenchman had done something.

"Francis, what did you do?" He asked again, with more pressure to his question.

"Mon ami… this Francis Bonnefoy will let such abomination taint your eyes no more." Francis spoke in a silken voice, his manner of speaking was if he was seducing a woman.

But it sent chills up the Englishman's spines. Although he was smiling, Francis' eyes were cold and relentless, acting exactly how he usually did at the court, killing off his enemies' reasonings and defends. All the while with a smile on his face, with his high percentage in winning cases and his peculiar behavior, Francis earned a name for his frightening reputation, the Smiling Demon. His usual self might strike him as flamboyant and slightly goofy, but in the court, he was a different man, a devil wearing a smiling mask. He almost always won his cases, but it wasn't always with honest ways, in contrast of Arthur's clean work ethics.

"Oh don't make that face, Arthur. I just talked to him, that's all." Francis assured, smiling. He casually approached Arthur, patting the shorter man's shoulder.

"...what did you tell him?"

Then Francis showed his iPhone to Arthur's face. Filled with curiosity but still suspicious, Arthur took a look at the screen. His emerald eyes grew wide. It was a video recording of Dave and that little boy, the one he saw back at Alfred's house. Only the beginning of the video was showed, then Francis pulled his cell away out of consideration.

He smiled. "Let's just say… something that will earn him the scorn of society, and a good amount of years behind the bars."

Arthur looked at him in disbelief. "You downloaded the videos? It's illegal, you know that."

"He didn't look like he was well educated. I am quite confident he didn't know much about laws. Besides…" Francis winked at him, bringing the cellphone to his lips. "If I show this to the boy's mother, or upload it in the internet anonymously, he'll be ruined. At least that man is smart enough to understand how blackmailing works." Then the Frenchman suddenly had a feigning realization look on his face.

"Wait, I've promised not to leak out the videos… oh well, I don't plan to keep it anyway. He can enjoy his freedom while he still can. Whether he'll sue me for that, we can worry about it later, after all, I appeal to the juries. They loved me."

The Englishman was at loss of words. "You… You're definitely someone I don't want to be enemies with."

"Aaah, you flatter me. How rare." Francis laughed. "By the way, since we don't have to worry about this right now, we can start looking for Alfred's mother."

"That's true. Let's not waste anymore time." Arthur nodded, agreeing. "But still, you surprise me sometimes. I didn't know you were _that_ angry."

Francis smiled sweetly, with hints of wickedness shone in his eyes. "Don't get me wrong, dear Arthur. I may not have a child myself, or have I, of your deep affection towards children. But it doesn't mean I wouldn't feel anything when I see something so despicable happened to them. Like you do, I would _love_ to punish that bastard myself. Only, I prefer a different way to do it. Why not let him live in shame and humiliation for the rest of his life? I think it is much better than a single moment of pain."

Arthur was dumbfounded. "…I guess I'm lucky to have you on my side, not the opposite." He uttered solemnly.

"Another flattery from you? Haha! This must be my lucky day!"

"Don't get cocky, you frog."

Francis laughed in return, and Arthur smiled in amazement. What a daredevil the Frenchman was! Even though Arthur couldn't agree to his ways of doing things, he couldn't help but to be amazed, each time Francis showed his capabilities. It certainly wasn't a wrong decision to have him around.

"Let's make haste, we've wasted too much time already," Arthur said as he checked his wristwatch, it was already eight. A perfect time to have breakfast, he thought as he was reminded of his empty stomach. He hadn't had any meal at all since his arrest, they didn't provide any provision during his custody. Arthur didn't mind, since he knew the food they had probably as good as a dog's anyway. Now that he was out, he needed to eat, badly.

"Let's go grab something to eat, I'm famished. They starve inmates here."

"Good idea, I haven't had any myself."

As the two decided, they went to buy some bagels and coffees at the Starbuck's down the boulevard, they both sat on one of the tables on the outer part of the cafe. Arthur then took a rather small, white-colored notebook from his briefcase, preceding to put it on the wooden table and opened it. Francis was quietly chewing his bagel, his eyes were staring absently at the bustling streets, paying particular attention towards the female passersby, meanwhile Arthur was typing away in silence, a thoughtful look on his face.

He had just opened up his email, and there are already several new mails waiting for him, most of which was sent by his clients and co-workers. Arthur decided to open some of them, usually the mails sent to him were about business and cases, attached with related files and documents. He was supposed to be at his office by then, but since it wasn't possible to come back soon, Arthur thought he could at least get some of his work done with the minimum spare time he had.

As he was browsing through the mails, his turquoise eyes caught one particular unread mail that drew his attention. It was an email from Kiku, the investigator, the new mail was under the title "Emily Jones' Documents", which was only received about five hours ago, when he was still arrested. Curious, Arthur hastily clicked on the mail and waited until it showed.

There were the Japanese man's usual polite greeting, as well as an attached file to the mail. Arthur downloaded the file and waited some more, growing more anxious by the second.

After the document was successfully downloaded, the Englishman opened it and started reading, his gaze went up and down, his eyes grew wider as he read. Finishing his reading, Arthur turned to the Frenchman who was staring at him questioningly. A smile rose across Arthur's lips as he exclaimed in a newfound spirit.

"I found out Emily Jones' whereabout!"

The Frenchman dropped his jaw slightly, causing coffee to spilt out of his lips to his chin. Francis quickly wiped it away with a tissue, then finally responded with similar fashion. "Really? But how come?" He asked enthusiastically, obviously interested.

"Kiku. He emailed me the details. I just opened it a minute ago." Arthur uttered vigorously.

"Mon dieu…" The older blonde breathed in amazement. "Arthur, you must let me meet this investigator friend of yours! He is truly tres bien!"

"Perhaps later, Francis. Kiku only works for people he has known for quite sometime, it'll be a while until he agrees to help you." Arthur uttered, smiling. Then he closed his notebook and proceeded to put it back into the protective bag then into his briefcase. Arthur drank the last drops of his coffee, before he stood up.

"Anyway, let's go find Alfred's mother quickly. It might be a long ride."

Francis stood up as well, taking a hold of his own half-full cup on one hand and his own briefcase in the other. "Certainly! Where to?"

Arthur's smile dropped slightly. "…according to Kiku's file, a mental institution called St. Andrews Hospital."

The Frenchman turned sharply at the Englishman, looking as if he had heard wrong.

"A mental institution…?"

"Yes." Arthur replied without looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed while his eyes fixated at the crowds, but he didn't seem to be looking at them.

"I am surprised too, but at least we finally found her. About the rest… we can find out more later."

Without further ado, the two men took a cab to go to their next destination. Along the ride, again Arthur wandered with his thoughts, eyes fixated at the running scenery beyond the window. Meanwhile Francis too, was unusually quiet. Both of them made no sound.

Arthur wondered to himself, wondered why he went into so much trouble for a boy he barely knew, when he could just turn a blind eye. Other people told him he was out of his mind, for picking up a street boy with whom he had no relation to. And what they said struck a sense into his head. What was he thinking? Even Arthur himself didn't know why he went so far for that child.

But at the same time, the more he found out about Alfred's past, the more he wanted to help him. That boy… Alfred reminded him too much of his past self; the young Arthur, the unloved child, the one his own parents had thrown aside like common garbage, treated as if he wasn't human. Alfred's eyes were that of his years ago; lost and hurt, as did so many others whom Arthur could not save.

Arthur clenched his eyes shut as he clutched at his chest, feeling a pang stung at him like a hundred razors. Arthur suddenly found himself struggling to breathe. No. He mustn't remember. Those horrible times were over. He wasn't the powerless child who could do nothing but to accept the pain and humiliation anymore, he was already a fully capable adult, much stronger than he did then.

"Arthur?"

The man in question snapped his eyes wide, turning his gaze towards the man beside him who was know staring, then he realized Francis had grabbed onto his shoulder without him realizing. "Are you okay? You look pale." The Frenchman asked, concerned.

Only after Francis had mention it, did Arthur noticed he was sweating quite hard and his shoulders were trembling slightly. He felt his hands were damp and cold. Trying to calm his nerves, Arthur acted as if nothing happened.

"I'm fine." He lied. "Just a little anemic. I didn't get to sleep much last night."

But Francis wasn't convinced. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry, I feel fine." Arthur insisted.

"…alright then."

Although he was still a bit unconvinced, Francis decided to let it slide, though he threw worried glances at Arthur every now and then to check. In the other hand, Arthur acted normally, he was staring at the road silently, when in truth he was still trying to calm himself down. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

He felt awful. His head ached, and he felt sick at the pit of his stomach. But Arthur bared with it. Just a bit more. If he could persuade Alfred's mother to let Alfred stay with the Kirkland's, then all this wouldn't have been for nothing. Then after that he could go back home and rest. He just had to bare with it for now.

Soundlessly, his hand went into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a leather wallet. With slightly trembling hands, he opened it, and there it was, a picture of his boy, grinning widely filled with joy. The sight of it instantly made him feel much better, as if Peter's smile had rejuvenated him. It always did. Only Peter could do such wonders to Arthur.

He wished to see his boy. He missed his naughty, joyful smile and childish antics. He missed hearing his voice calling him daddy, daddy. He wanted to pick him up and hold his little boy in his arms tightly, protect him from any harm, make sure he would always be happy for the rest of his life. Oh how Arthur wished he could return home right now, he wondered what his boy was doing at the moment, probably having breakfast before going to school. He worried about his son, but Alfred was there, so he thought everything would be just fine.

_It's okay_, Arthur mused as he closed his eyes and held that photo close to his heart,_ it's going to be alright, I can do this._ _Then after that, I'll go back home, where those children are…_

Then he thought of Alfred, when the teenager's face appeared in his mind, Arthur opened his eyes.

"Francis."

The quiet Frenchman looked a bit surprised when he heard his name being called by the previously silent Englishman. With slight curiosity, he turned to him, but before he could respond, Arthur had spoken again.

"When I told you I wish to adopt Alfred… you were quite surprised and thought I was out of my mind, didn't you?" He asked, but his eyes weren't directed to his friend, but instead fixed straight ahead.

The other man flinched slightly. He glanced down briefly, sighing softly. "…yes, I did. I did think you weren't in your right mind at that time. I was just… honestly surprised that you suddenly said you wanted to adopt a street child you took in only a few days back." He admitted.

Arthur smiled bitterly. "Yes, I could understand that."

"But that doesn't mean I look down on your good will." Francis quickly added. "I thought it is very brave of you to help a child in need, although I haven't met that boy yet, I'm sure he's a splendid person to make you want to help him so much." Francis solemnly said, while the younger man seemed thoughtful.

"…I too, didn't know why I did it, to be honest." Arthur's gaze went down, gazing at the photo and the wallet on his lap.

"It's just that… Whenever I look at Alfred, I see a boy, still young and has so much ahead of him. I see him, as the son of another person, who is supposed to be still under the protection of his parents, but… I didn't see happiness in his eyes, only sadness and loneliness. And seeing him together with Peter, with my family, that sadness wavered slightly. He looked happier, healthier. I… I saw myself in him, when I was at his age. The difference was, I had my adoptive parents with me, so I was fine. I was happy. They… saved me." Arthur felt heat rushed to his eyes. He closed them.

"But Alfred didn't have anyone. He was alone to fend for himself. He might end up dead sooner or later if I or someone else didn't come to help him. I've seen too many… died in the streets, from many reasons. My friends, the homeless, strangers… you can't imagine how frightening it was to live like that, one day waking up to a friend, with whom you were talking to just the night before, froze to death beside you in the morning. Doing anything, even the worst of things anyone can do, to survive, so we wouldn't die like dogs. Every single day… " Arthur tightened his fists at the reminiscent.

"That's why… I can't let Alfred alone. I… I must help him." Then Arthur turned to the older man, staring at him right to his eyes.

"I know I've already asked for too much of you, but…" His words trailed off, as Arthur suddenly lowered his head in a pleading manner. "Could you please bare with me? I can understand if you're unwilling to, since I've already caused you troubles - "

"Stop."

Arthur then suddenly found himself had been forced to look up by his shoulders, he saw a frowning Francis right before his yes, looking irritated.

He was honestly confused. "Francis?"

The said man looked serious, unlike his usual easy-going behavior. Arthur had never seen him looking like that before.

"Arthur," Francis spoke in a stern voice, in which was something Arthur had never hear him speaking in such a way before either.

"We've known each other for _years_. In all those years, have you ever seen me quit something before?" He asked, but didn't let the other man answer as he continued. "Arthur, you're a very important coworker, but an even more important friend to me. I understand that this means so much to you, and it doesn't matter how hard it would be, I've already made a professional commitment to your case, and as a friend, I _want_ to help you, from the bottom of my heart. There's no need to do this, it goes without saying, that I will come whenever you need me without fail."

Arthur was taken aback by Francis' solemn words. He certainly didn't expect it.

The Frenchman grinned at him, then pulled at either sides of Arthur's cheeks until the younger blonde yelped in pain. Then Francis released his face, snickering as Arthur rubbed his stinging red cheek. The Englishman looked annoyed, but then he smiled.

"Thank you."

Francis only replied by smiling, while an index finger was pointing at something in the front seat. Arthur followed the direction and found that the cab driver had been peeking them from the small mirror all the while, dividing his attention towards driving and eavesdropping.

"Sirs, I completely agree with you! Please help that kid, Albus-or whatever his name was." He earnestly said in a thick southern accent, giving a thumbs-up. His eyes seemed a bit watery.

Arthur and Francis looked at each other. Then they burst out laughing, Arthur even had some tears in the corners of his eyes. "Of course, of course!" The Englishman said, having a bit of a trouble saying it in-between laughter.

"Francis Bonnefoy shall do the same!" Francis declared dramatically with a hand on his chest while the other was thrusting into the air.

Arthur couldn't believe it, but the sun looked brighter now, than the day before. He felt much better, as he slumped into his seat, sighing. Then Arthur opened his wallet again, gazing at his family's picture with a smile. _Peter, daddy will work harder._ He mumbled without a sound.

He no longer hesitated.

"What is your name, monsieur?" Francis asked the eavesdropping cab driver.

"Oh! It's Jake, sir!" The driver was a bit surprised when the Frenchman asked for his name.

"Then Jake, do you think we can reach the St. Andrews Hospital faster? We'll pay you double if you can get us there in the next ten minutes." Francis stated, earning a very eager response from the driver.

"I sure can, sir! I know this area like my own backyard!"

"Ah, great! Let's go then! Charge!" Francis exclaimed with a fist thrust into the air. Agreeing to his encouragement, Jake stepped on the gas and the car accelerated.

"…you two act like children." Arthur commented, though he was chuckling all the while the two conversed in a lively manner.

Oh well, not that he could complain. Leaning to the driver's seat like Francis did, Arthur too, encouraged the driver. "Step on it, Jake."

"Yes, sir!"

* * *

More or less an hour later, they arrived in the threshold of the St. Andrews Hospital, after paying for the cab fee (although Jake didn't make it in time, they still paid him more for the enjoyable ride) and bidding Jake farewell.

The day was getting brighter, Arthur checked his watch, it was already past eleven. Looking up at the old building before him, with its white paint had smudged into the mosses that grew all over its walls, Arthur looked at Francis, who happened to turn his head to him at the same time. Arthur nodded briefly, and Francis responded in the same way, nodding once.

They walked past the main entrance, entering a white-colored lobby that smelled a faint scent of medicines. In contrary of its outer appearance, the inside of the hospital was rather clean and sanitary. A young man in white coat, presumably a doctor, passed by in front of them, holding a file, while several nurses went back and forth, some were with pushing patients on their wheelchairs, while the rest seemed awfully occupied with something else and was hurrying on their ways. Patients were sitting on the benches along the narrow hallways, waiting for their turn to be examined.

The receptionist desk was just ahead of them. There were several staff behind the wooden mahogany desk, looking rather busy, juggling between typing into their computers on one side and working on a stack of papers on the other.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows, he was never fond of hospitals. His mother used to take him to big hospitals, for as long as he could remember, none of them had been a very good memories. To this day, Arthur still hated going to hospitals. He wouldn't want to go to one without a damn good reason or an emergency, and now it was one of the earlier.

They approached the front desk, then asked a middle-age African-American nurse in scrubs about a female patient named Emily Lynn Jones. The nurse asked for further descriptions as she checked from the computer. After a short while, the nurse found the said patient. However, before spoiling anymore information, she asked whether Arthur and Francis were relatives or some sorts.

"Yes, well, we're not Mrs. Jones' relatives. However, we came to inform her about something very, very important about her son." Francis had been the one to reply first, with a smooth smile on his face.

The middle-age nurse seemed interested in what the Frenchman said. "Oh? So you've found her son? Is he alive? Where did you find him?" She asked, completely halting her hands from her works.

_Why are women so eager to know about other people's life?_ Arthur wondered, putting up his professional demeanor.

"Yes, ma'am, we've found her son and he is fine - excuse me, if I may know, what exactly happened to Mrs. Jones that she's admitted here?" Arthur asked.

"Are you asking if she's crazy? No, no, no, you've got it all wrong, son." The nurse shook his head a few times, flailing her hand slightly. "People around here always mistake our hospital as a place for crazy people, but no, they were wrong. This is just a normal hospital. But we have advanced facilities for rehabilitation for patients with light psychological problems, like heavy smoking, drug abuse, and alcoholism. But trust me son, this place isn't madhouse."

"Then… Mrs. Jones is not sick?" Arthur asked, sighing in relief. Now he might not have to tell the bad news to Alfred later at home.

"Oh, that is also wrong my dear child." The nurse leaned forward, half-standing. Her rather flabby breasts touched the surface of the desk, Arthur had to take half a step back because of the closeness. "Her heart is hurt, son. The sickness of the heart is also an illness we have to cure, but hers won't be cured unless she finds what she's looking for."

Arthur's lips twitched slightly and he swallowed.

The nurse withdrew and flopped onto her chair again, staring up at the two gentlemen. "You said you found Alfred, then you should know what happened to her. But you two don't look like you know a jack. You aren't with the police who investigates Alfred's missing, aren't you?"

That again, took Arthur by surprise. "H-how do you know?"

"You're not the ones I saw at her house." The nurse said, smiling warmly. "I'm Brenda. Emily's friend and neighbor. I'm the one who took her here."

"I see. I didn't know that." Arthur said, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry, I've just arrived here yesterday, and I don't really know the details about Alfred's mother. We came to know that she was admitted in this hospital just a while back."

Brenda looked slightly taken aback. "You didn't know? So where have you been looking then? Her workplace?"

"No, we went to her house first, actually."

The older woman pursed her lips as she grimaced. "…oh no, did you meet with Dave, her boyfriend?"

"Oh, no, we didn't, madam." Francis said, glancing at a suddenly tensing Arthur. "We didn't meet him, however as soon as we found out what kind of man this Dave was, dear Arthur here went out to hit him." The Frenchman grinned.

Arthur suddenly coughed, rather loudly, meanwhile kicking at the Frenchman's shins as hard as he could (Francis yelped and jumped around, holding his kicked leg).

"_You hit him?_" Brenda stood up, a look of disbelief on her face.

"Yes, madam. I believe Dave is currently enjoying his time in a hospital ward!" Francis winked an eye at her, although his eyes were tearing up and he was still holding his stinging shin.

"You _hit_ Dave McGreggor? And he's in the hospital now? Oh Son, you just gave me the best news I've heard in _months_!" She had gone around the desk and out of the receptionist just to hug the clueless Englishman, patting his back rather hard numerous times, laughing heartily. Arthur found it difficult to breathe, however, from the tight embrace Brenda gave him.

After one more hug (on Francis' side - The skinny Frenchman was squeezed mercilessly but couldn't complain) later, Brenda released them, a wide, satisfied smile was displayed on her face.

"Come, come! I'll take you to Emily's room myself! Bass dear, be a darling and cover for me for a minute, will you? I'll be back soon." The nurse said to a seemingly young intern in the back of the receptionist desk, who only nodded in reply.

"Emily's condition is particularly difficult." Brenda told Arthur and Francis, as they strode along the busy hallways.

"Ever since Alfred's missing, she has been devastated. She managed to hold on in the first few months in hope for the police to find her son… but after two months with no news, she's started having nervous breakdown." They stopped and moved away to let an old man in wheel chair and his wife to pass by, then continued their way. They turned to a corner and strode ahead, crossing a skywalk to a separate building.

"Is it life-threatening?" Francis had asked along the way.

"Oh no, thankfully Emily doesn't show any sign of self-mutilation or suicide attempt, she's been docile so far." The nurse shook her head.

"However, she has been under a lot of pressure, she kept getting fired from numerous jobs, and Dave hitting her and treating her like a servant in her own house. Then when Alfred went missing, her frail body and mind couldn't take it. Her health dropped quickly, but she refused to seek medical attention, she refused to work, eat, and eventually, she refused to even speak to anyone."

Brenda stopped in front of a ward in the corner of the hallway, no one but the three of them were in the hallway. Brenda raised her gaze towards the wooden door in front of her, her eyes looked forlorn. Then she turned to the two gentlemen.

"It took me a lot of efforts to finally get her here a month ago. No one knows about this but my husband and me, since it's what Emily wants, we told the neighborhood she found a job with full-time shifts that she practically lives in her workplace. But after one month staying, she still refuses to speak or react like a normal person would. She's… just like a broken doll."

Her last sentence sounded void of emotion, but Arthur could see the sadness and pity in her eyes. And he knew how she felt. Likewise how Arthur should always only keep a professional relationship with his clients and not to form any sort of emotional bindings with them, the same principality was practiced in the medical world as well, like the unspoken rule that a doctor wasn't allowed to have a close relationship with their patients.

Now that Emily was Brenda's patient, she couldn't let their friendship deprive her from her professional commitment, despite having to see her friend's hardships and sufferings, without being able to help her. So Arthur chose to be quiet.

"I have to tell you this. I can only let one person in. The other should wait outside." Brenda said, as she held the doorknob in one hand. Arthur and Francis looked at each other, and they decided it would be Arthur who enter, via eye contact. Arthur then nodded to show that they understood.

"And I can't guarantee whether she will speak to you or not. She even refused to talk to me for weeks now. But maybe she will respond to you if you talk about little Al. But there's no guarantee. She might not recover at all."

"I understand." Arthur gave her an assuring smile. "I… too, have a son waiting for me at home. I can understand her feelings. And I'm sure she misses her son much more than I do right now."

Brenda looked at him. "…so you understand."

The Englishman gave a brief nod. "Yes."

The older American-African woman smiled thinly, "No wonder… you have such gentle eyes." He mumbled softly, before opening the door for him. "You have half an hour. I'll be back when the time's up."

Arthur glanced over his shoulders, seeing Francis was smiling as he waved his hand at him. The Englishman gave a wave of his hand as well. Then he turned his gaze forward, stepping into the dim room. After he was inside, the door was closed soundlessly behind him.

It was no different than any other ordinary patient room. Painted in very pale blue color, the room looked sterile and sanitary. He spotted medical equipments and simple wooden furniture adorning the almost empty room, however it seemed to be a single room, since he only spotted a single bed inside, it was half hidden behind green curtains. But the bed was empty.

When Arthur raised his eyes, he saw a dark-haired woman was sitting by an open window. Her straight hair went down to the waist, she was wearing a dark green-colored hospital outfit. She had her back on him as she sat on a white-colored round chair that was facing to the casement, only a feet away from the bed.

Arthur could see the lush bush of a birch tree just right outside the window. He noticed the room must be facing the hospital garden, as he could hear the faint cheerful laughter of children and he could see the colorful flowers in a distant. The leaves made a soothing, rustling sounds as a breeze went past them, blowing gently at the woman's dark tresses.

Even without seeing her face, he knew who she was.

"Emily Jones?" He spoke out, but she didn't seem to react in any way. But Arthur continued.

"I'm here regarding your missing son, Alfred F. Jones."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Long chapter to make up for the long wait! The next may be longer, I don't know yet, but hopefully it's soonish. Real world hasn't been very easy for me lately (and I've started writing a novel of my own, so… U/U), but I'm trying to update my stories faster. Next time we go back to the Kirkland family and Alfred! :-)


	5. Sun on the Right Hand

**Attention to all my readers: **I've realized some people have been asking me when I will start updating my other stories. Of course, I myself would love to continue them. However, I've learned from experience that having multiple ongoing stories will certainly result in abandonment of the other stories, therefore I want to tell you that I am only capable of handling a maximum of three ongoing stories at a time. **American Wife**, **Into the Herd**, and **Supreme Fascination** are my main concern at the moment. Until I've finished one of them, the other stories are put on hold for now. I'm very sorry for the wait, but I need to do this so I can have some focus.

**Chapter Five: the Sun on the Right Hand, **

**the Moon on the Left**

"My name is Arthur Kirkland, I am a lawyer." Arthur introduced himself.

He sat on an empty white-painted chair which the color had faded over time. Across of him, Emily Jones was sitting on a round chair, clad in soft lavender knitted shawl, and she wore a cream-colored hospital outfit underneath it. Her long, thick dark locks were let loose and messy, touching her waist. Her complexion looked terribly sickly, even when she was already pale from the beginning, from the photo Arthur saw in her house. Her lips were chapped and tinted in light purplish blue hue.

Despite his attempt to talk to her, she remained silent, her green eyes were fixated at a bunch of children playing at the park outside the window. She acted as if she hadn't heard Arthur, or even realized the presence of another person in the room. But Arthur wasn't about to give up yet. Not yet. Not when he could finally meet her. He needed her to speak with him.

"Your son - Alfred is currently staying with me. He's in good health and he's eating properly." He told her with a warm smile on his face and a gentle tone of voice. But nothing came from the diseased woman.

Arthur, not giving up, was still attempting a conversation. "He's very helpful too. He helps me out in the house and he even cooks for us. And he's been taking care of my son - I have a son, you see. His name is Peter. They really get along well. Would you like to see his picture?"

Arthur put his hand into the inner pocket of his suit and fished out a black leather wallet. He opened it and the picture of his little boy and himself greeted him. Smiling fondly, he stood up and approached Emily, bending his back a little and taking out the photograph to show it to her. He did it meanwhile still keeping a safe distance from her.

"He's turning seven this month," Arthur told her. "He's in second grade right now. He loves playing soccer and his favorite food are pizza and waffles. He's very energetic, in fact, he has so much energy, I don't know how to keep up with him sometimes. But he's a good kid. I haven't seen him since yesterday, I wonder what he's doing right now."

Eliciting no reaction from Emily, Arthur pulled back and put the photo back into the wallet. Then he sat across her again, putting a leg over the other, while his twined fists on his lap. Emily was still quietly staring off into the space, completely undisturbed.

The British man observed her for a short moment in silence, many things came to his mind. Even though from the outside he seemed composed, in the inside he was puzzled. He was anxious and a tad bit nervous. How could he make Emily talk, or even react to him? He had no idea.

While his mind was preoccupied, a gentle breeze blew in and brushed against Emily's onyx locks and the lace binds of the window. Arthur turned to see the rustling leaves of the tree nearby the window. He felt it was very peaceful.

The hospital was located nearby the town's forest, far away from the corrupted air of the bustling city. It was more like a countryside, a perfect place for the sick and the troubled to recover in this tranquil isolation. Arthur found himself staring out at the park where a small playground was built. There were several children playing there, still clad in their pajamas.

They were about 6 - 12 years of age. He noticed there was one boy who looked like he was of Peter's age. The boy had short blonde hair too, reminding him how much he wanted to go home and see his little boy. He wondered whether Peter missed him too. He used to sulk whenever Arthur came home late. Then Arthur would try to apologize and promise him to go to the amusement together next time.

Speaking of which, he remembered they had plans to go to the Disneyland next month, Arthur had invited his ex-wife and her husband, they agreed to go as family and friends. It was a part of their commitment to raise their child together despite having separated. Even though… Arthur had to admit it would feel awkward to go with his ex and her new man. Every time he saw her, Arthur would remember a bit about their relationship in the past.

"…I heard that you had Alfred when you were very young." He uttered, his gaze was locked at the two children, playing seesaw.

"It must've been hard, to raise a child when you were so young. I understand that. I had Peter when I was in still college." He calmly said. Pieces of reminiscence came before his eyes, as he drowned into a pool of memory deep within his heart. He slowly closed his eyes.

"My girlfriend found out she was pregnant with Peter one day. She was older than me by two years, while I was 19, in my sophomore year. I couldn't even drink alcohol yet." He chuckled humorlessly, soon the chuckle died out.

"It was very difficult for me, I was still so young." He uttered softly, eyes downcast.

"She wanted to abort, but I stopped her. I didn't want her to kill a new life - a gift God gave us. But… it was hard. I was so confused, scared, and anxious. I didn't know what to do. She wasn't ready to be a mother, neither was I, to be a father. I still wanted to get my degree and build a career, I still wanted to do so many things. I was so afraid, but I convinced myself that I have to take responsibility over her and my unborn child. So, I took a risk.

I convinced her we were going to be alright and that I would take care of both of them. I proposed to her and she accepted. We told our parents. They were surprised, but in the end they gave us their blessing and support. After that… we were struggling." Arthur tightened his fists, inhaling deeply as if he hadn't been breathing well.

"I didn't quit my education. We both continued our studies - I worked part time on multiple jobs on the side to pay for the medical bills and save up as much as I could. We were both working hard. Then, a year later, Peter was born." He suddenly went silent again.

"It was… strange. All my doubts and fear vanished the moment I held him in my arms. Like a miracle." Arthur brought a hand up and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his eyes, wiping away the tears that suddenly spilled out uncontrollably. He felt embarrassed for having lost control of his composure like that, but he quickly recovered and collected himself.

"I… want only the best for my family, so I started working harder, especially after I have gotten my degree. I got into a firm and worked day and night to make our lives better." He smiled bitterly. "…but because I was too busy, I didn't realize my marriage was in verge of destruction. I didn't know my wife was suffering because I was always at work, I was rarely at home. I tried my best to work things out, but in the end… we went on our separated ways."

Arthur was still smiling, but his eyes spoke otherwise, then he turned his head to watch the kids outside again. The lively sound of their laughter resounded into the room, at the same time, another breeze came to intrude, tenderly caressing Arthur's cheeks. His chest ached at the memory of his past, yet he felt calmer and peaceful. He shrugged, sweeping away the bad feelings clouding his mind. What was already in the past couldn't be helped, he mused, he was already over it.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Arthur held up his right arm and noticed at his wristwatch. His thirty minutes was almost up. He sighed inwardly then he glanced up at Emily, who hadn't shown any sort of significant reaction, she was still sitting there in silence, staring absently at the green garden. Arthur realized he had wasted time without any result.

A knock on the door caused him to look up.

"Arthur?" Francis' voice came from the direction of the door. "Brenda is here. She said your time's up."

"I'll be out in a minute." Arthur replied back, getting on his knees.

Before he left the room, he turned to Emily. "I have to go, for now." He told her. "I'll come again next time. Until then, have a good day, Ms. Jones."

As soon as he shut the door behind him, he saw Francis and Brenda were there for him. Francis had a look of subtle curiosity hinted from his expression, while Brenda's face was unreadable.

"How is it?"

Arthur didn't answer. He cast his gaze downward and shook his head.

"Oh… that's too bad." Francis muttered, a sigh spilled out of his lips.

"She didn't respond to me at all. It's just as you said." The British man glanced at the nurse.

"I suspected it won't be easy, her mental health level is very low right now." The older woman nodded, patting the younger man's back soothingly.

Arthur smiled at her. "But I won't be giving up just yet. I'll come later and try to talk to her again." He declared solemnly. "Although for now it may be impossible. I'm sure in the future it'd become possible."

"So what's next? Are we going back?" The Frenchman asked, earning a turn of head from the British man.

"We can't prolong our stay anymore, so first we'll go back." Arthur replied. "And then after that… I have a plan. But we'll talk about it later."

Francis nodded. "I agree."

"You two boys are going back already? Take care now."

"Thank you for helping us out, Brenda." Arthur thrust his hand towards the nurse, who took it into hers.

"Don't worry, sweetie. Anytime you need me." They shook hand briefly. "Do you want me to see you off?"

"No, we're fine. We'll see you soon, Brenda. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Francis and Arthur waved good bye at the nurse, who stayed back to check up Emily, before they strolled down the sterile-scented hallways for the entrance to leave the hospital. It was already afternoon. Arthur walked in fast, long strides in silence, while Francis was closing in on him on his side. It seemed like the Brit had a lot in his mind as they made their exit, Francis decided not to ask him anything and wait until the Brit would talk to him.

"What's the 'plan' you were talking about?" Francis had asked Arthur as soon as they got into a cab they hailed in the street past the hospital gates.

Arthur took in his briefcase first before he went in and closed the door. "Take us to the airport, please." He told the driver, who nodded briefly. It was until they both had settled down comfortably, did Arthur finally answered.

"It's about Dave McGreggor," He said, green eyes fixated straight as he sat in casual, composed manner. "It's clear that he's the reason for Alfred and his mother's suffering, amongst other things. I want him out of the picture."

Francis turned his head to his side at the blatant confession that the usually collected Arthur spoke out, but what surprised him was that Arthur said those words with a straight face and casual tone of voice, unlike the resentful manner he displayed time to time again before.

"You're planning to get rid of him? But who would testify against him, now that Emily Jones is not psychologically healthy?"

"Emily might not be able to do it for now. But there's Alfred. He's a victim of domestic abuse, multiple assaults, and possibly sexual harassment. He can testify against McGreggor." He told him.

"However, I don't want to force him to confess. He doesn't know I'm researching his backgrounds and meeting his mother. But in the mean time, until he decided to tell me what happened on his own will, I would like to gather up as much legal evidence as I could, even if I have to dig up the garbage for it. I'll also need witnesses to testify for McGreggor's violent behavior; I think the neighbors would be perfect for that." Arthur took his hand inside his trousers pocket, taking out his cell. Then he turned to Francis.

"I will need as much help as I could. Especially from you and Kiku." The Frenchman tensed when he saw those stern emerald orbs burned in steely determination. "I would like to use your abilities to its full potential. Is that understood, Bonnefoy?"

Francis swallowed, but then an amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It had been a while since he saw Arthur got so serious. This would be interesting, he thought gleefully. "Are you asking me to completely ruin the life of a criminal?" He licked his lips in the delicious anticipation. "Count me in."

"I know you're the best man for this," Arthur smiled, but it looked more like a smug smirk. Looking thoughtful, he held up his cell and started pressing the buttons quickly.

"What are we going to do first?" Francis stretched his arms, crackling his fists.

"I'm emailing the rest of the team." He answered. "I'll have my best men at the ready."

"What, like CSI?" the Frenchman joked, laughing amusedly.

"You watch crime dramas too much. But that is a secret." The Brit pulled a mischievous smile. "But I'll give you your first mission; I want you to investigate the Jones' estate."

Francis raised a blonde eyebrow. "That rundown house? Is there something about it?"

"There is. I want you to find the neighborhood's real estate agent, then give me the copies of the officially signed registration and estate ownership papers. I don't care what your method is, I want it in my possession as soon as possible." Arthur stated, never looking away from his cellphone monitor. He kept hitting away at the buttons.

"Also, I want to get a temporary guardianship over Alfred, but hopefully a full guardianship - seeing his mother is clearly not capable of taking care of her child presently. I want you to help me with the process. Find out whether Emily Jones has named someone as Alfred's guardian in her will, and if they are relatives or friends. I also want some personal documents on their profiles, backgrounds, crime records, and their addresses for the last five years."

For a moment, Francis was dumbfounded. "…demanding little bastard, aren't you."

Arthur turned to him, furrowing his eyebrows. "If it's easy to get, you'll slack off. Don't think I don't know."

"Haha! True, true." Francis chuckled. "Well, what Monsieur _Angleterre_ wants, Monsieur _Angleterre_ gets. If it's for you, I'll do it without charging a few extra hours." He winked.

"I told you not to call me that." Arthur irritatedly said, although he was smiling.

"Oh _non_, _non_. That I can not do!"

Arthur sighed. "Well, as long as you do your work..."

Francis laughed merrily. "_Oui, _Monsieur_!_" He blew a kiss at Arthur.

The British man brought two fingers to message his temples.

"…remind me why I brought this man along…"

* * *

By the time Arthur had parked his car in his apartment basement, it was already ten in the night. He had drove off Francis on the lobby of his apartment building before he drove to his own. After he slipped his security card into the card-holder of the elevator, the British man rested his back against the inner wall of the moving cube, taking a deep breath.

He felt worn out from the constant traveling and driving, and starving to top it. He hadn't eaten dinner yet. Arthur placed his palm over his tired eyes, shielding his sight from the annoyingly bright lamps above his head. Furrowing his eyebrows, he mentally swore at the stinging pain that seemed to drill into his temples. It might be migraine. He had to make sure he took an aspirin before bed.

He felt incredulously lazy to even walk out, when the elevator reached his floor with a ding. Nevertheless, Arthur bared with it and strided on his way along the seemingly tranquil hallway that was always smelt of flowery aromatherapy oil. It actually made him feel a little bit better.

The tired man sighed in relief when he finally reached his door, pushing the doorbell rather impatiently. He put down his heavy briefcase and waited until he heard footsteps and a familiar voice replying to the bell, and the door swung open for him. Before him, stood a young man, looking surprised but seemed glad as he greeted the older man.

"Hi, Mr. Kirkland. Welcome home!" Alfred exclaimed, smiling radiantly.

Arthur returned the smile with a tired one, letting the boy took his briefcase for him then proceeded to usher the Brit inside. Once he stepped inside his own home, Arthur breathed in the friendly, relaxing smell, finally realizing he was finally home. He felt the built-up stress was reduced significantly now that he was in the safe zone of his comfortable flat.

"Where is Peter? Is he asleep?" Arthur asked as he flopped down onto the sofa in the living room, tugging at the too-tight burgundy tie he was wearing, his neck had felt sweaty and itchy all day long, very uncomfortable. However, Arthur had to bare with it, for appearance's sake.

"He's sleeping in his room. I tucked him in just a while ago." Alfred answered, taking the suit Arthur had thrown randomly onto the couch, before he put it away inside the closet.

"Aah, is that so." Arthur yawned widely, drowsy tears gathered at the corner of his eyes.

He felt so sleepy and tired, but he hadn't eaten anything at all, at least he had to take a shower before he went to bed. Fighting the drowsiness, he dozed off a bit, lolling his head to the side. He saw Alfred had put away the dishes and was wiping the dining table with a rag. Arthur observed him, trying to fight off the sleepiness from forcing his eyes closed.

"So… how was your day?" He lazily asked, his vision began blurring.

"Umm, nothing out of ordinary." Alfred replied without looking at him. "I took Peter to the park after school and we played soccer for a while. We went home when it got dark, then we had dinner. How about you, Mr. Kirkland? How did the trip goes…?"

Alfred expected an answer, but it didn't come after a minute had passed. "Mr. Kirkland?" Curious he turned around and saw Arthur had fallen asleep on the sofa, his eyes were closed as his head lolled back, his breaths sounded steady as he slept quietly.

The teen boy abandoned the rag on the table and approached the sleeping man, staring down at him and making sure he was really asleep. He certainly looked very tired, he mused silently, wondering whether he should wake him up. But he didn't dare to because he felt bad for the man. He didn't want to wake him up.

"What should I do…" Alfred mumbled to himself, deciding to shake the Brit's shoulder gently and calling him again to see if he would wake up. But Arthur stayed asleep after he had shook him, it didn't look like he would wake up easily. But Alfred couldn't just leave the man sleep there, seeing he was still fully dressed in his work attire.

After pondering about it, Alfred decided it would be the best to try to carry Arthur to his bed without waking him up. He was a bit unsure of how to do it, though, as he attempted to scoop Arthur up by the arm, while using his hand to slip across the British man's back to support his weight, and another instinctively slid beneath his inner thighs.

It was an unsteady movement, but Alfred was surprised by how light the older man turned out to be. He could lift him up easily. He felt awkward and slightly nervous, calling out for Arthur again to see if he had woken up. "Umm, Mr. Kirkland? Are you awake?"

Arthur answered with a string of incorrigible mumbles, eyes half-lidded. Then he leaned his head against Alfred's collarbone and settled comfortably there. He went back to sleep. Now that he had gotten in this situation, Alfred had no choice but to carry him to his bed. Slowly and carefully, he walked across the room, meanwhile avoiding things he would bum into on his way, proceeding towards Arthur's bedroom across the hall.

The American boy had a little difficulty with the doorknob, since he had both of his hands full. He tried to reach for the knob, but Arthur was sliding off his arm when he tried to, as soon as it did, Alfred quickly backed away in fear of dropping the older man. Feeling vexed also because of his increasingly numbing grip, Alfred tried to think of another way, when he saw the door to a guest-room just next door, that Arthur lent to him to sleep in, was a bit opened.

A light went on in his head, Alfred thought of letting Arthur slept on his bed instead, then Alfred would sleep on the couch. He quickly went for it without further ado, widening the gap of the entrance with a soft kick of his foot. The room was dark, but it wasn't a problem. Alfred gently lowered the sleeping man on the bed. As soon as Arthur was settled on the clean sheets, he was slowly waking up.

"Hmm…" Arthur opened his emerald green eyes and furrowed his eyebrows. He woke up in a bad mood. He breathed in, yet to realize where he was. He turned his head, saw Alfred crouching by the bedside table, then he noticed he was in a bed. Alfred had turned on the bedside lamp.

"Did I… fall asleep?" Arthur groaned, squeezing his eyes shut from the sudden pain that stung his head. _Headache, great..._ he mused in irritation.

Alfred chuckled softly. "You fell asleep on the couch, Mr. Kirkland." He told him.

"Crap… sorry for your trouble, Alfred." Arthur tried to get up, but Alfred stopped him with a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"You're exhausted, don't push yourself too hard." He said. "I'll bring a change of clothes. I'll be back in a minute."

Leaving the older man, Alfred rushed out of the room then five minutes later returned with a set of Arthur's favorite pajamas and a pair of clean briefs. "Thank you, Alfred." Arthur uttered when the younger boy handed him the clothes. Alfred only nodded.

While he was unbuttoning his shirt, Arthur realized he wasn't in his own bedroom. "Is this your room?" He looked up at the boy.

"Uh, yeah. I couldn't open the door to your room, because I was helping you, and… oh don't worry, I'll sleep on the couch tonight. You can sleep in the bed." He quickly added, assuring the older man.

"Why? This is your bed you can sleep here too. Besides, it's King-sized." Arthur took off his soiled shirt and was putting on the pajamas top, noticing the discomfort in Alfred's part. Then he winked slyly at the flustered boy. "What? I won't bite! Don't worry. I'll go to my own room and sleep there."

The boy flushed in embarrassment. "That wasn't very nice, Mr. Kirkland…"

Arthur only laughed. "Sorry, sorry. Just kidding, okay?" He jokingly said. "Anyway… just call me Arthur, will you? I am not used to being called 'Mr. something'."

"But…"

"It's alright. I'd much prefer you call me Arthur. 'Mr.' is just a cod bit too formal."

"… okay."

The Brit flung his legs to sit at the side of the bed, his shirt on one hand, while the clean clothes were hanging on his right arm. He hadn't put on the bottom half of his pajamas yet. He had the common decency not to change pants in front of people. That would be too casual.

"Well then, I will bother you no more. I'll return to my room now." He said with a smile, patting Alfred's shoulder. He wanted to reach for the boy's head, but couldn't, since the boy was about 5-inches taller than he was. Alfred looked a bit embarrassed by it. Arthur thought it was adorable of him.

"Tomorrow is Saturday. It's Peter's birthday, I'll have some people, family and a few close friends, to come over for a small dining party. I want you to join us." He told him.

Alfred was surprised at the invitation. "B-but I'm just a stranger."

"First of all, I never had strangers stay with us for days, especially leaving them alone in my house." Arthur said, "Second, Peter and I, we think of you as a part of our little family now. Peter would be thrilled to have you in his seventh birthday party. So I insist."

The teen was dumbfounded, yet he looked happy, a little nervous, and a bit confused. His clear blue eyes didn't meet with Arthur's and were staring at the carpeted floor when he muttered a 'yes'.

Arthur smiled in satisfaction. "Good. I'm glad you accept."

"Mr. Kirk - Arthur… you're too nice to me."

"You deserve it, Alfred. You've been helpful to me." Arthur uttered earnestly, remembering the hardships the boy had to go through in the past. But he kept his mouth shut, Alfred didn't need to know that Arthur had known of his past.

"Anyway, I'm going back to my room. Good night, Alfred." The Brit bade him before he walked past the boy towards the entrance.

"… good night, Arthur."

After he closed the door behind him, Arthur didn't immediately return to his room, instead he went to see Peter before going to bed. He gently opened the door and stepped in, then proceeded to sit on a chair next to Peter's bed. The boy was sound asleep and laid undisturbed as Arthur sat there, caressing the boy's hair and watching him in silence.

Fifteen minutes later, Arthur got up and left the room soundlessly, this time, he went back to his room, changed the rest of his clothes, then threw himself onto the bed. Within seconds, he fell asleep from the unbearable exhaustion. For a moment, he forgot about the things happened to him these past two days, his arrest, the lack of sleep, Emily Jones and Dave McGreggor…everything.

Throughout the night, he finally found a peaceful slumber.

* * *

When morning came, Arthur woke up feeling refreshed.

He sat up and stretched his arms, moaning in comfort. He yawned and scratched the back of his head, he noticed it was already seven in the morning, from the antique clock hanging in the wall of his room. He still felt drowsy and lazy, but forced himself to get out of the bed and take a shower in an attached bathroom.

After he had brushed his teeth and took a shower, Arthur slid into a pair of slacks and put on a black polo shirt over his head. He went out of his room with his hair still wet and a towel hanging around his neck as he walked towards the kitchen. On the way, he could smell a delicious scent wafted under his nose. He heard the morning news on TV and the sound of Peter's laughter.

"Hmm, I smell pancakes." Arthur emerged into the room, taking in the sight of Alfred cooking by the stove and Peter watching TV. They both turned their heads at the older man, Peter was as energetic as ever as he jumped off of the dining chair to greet his daddy with a huge hug.

"Daddy, daddy! When did you go home? Peter didn't see you!" Peter exclaimed, all grins, as he hugged his father's waist.

"I arrived home last night, you were already asleep. I told you I'll be back soon, didn't I?" Arthur replied, scooping up the little boy into his arms. "Good morning, Alfred. What are you cooking? Pancakes? Smells good!" The British man asked, inhaling the delicious smell that made his empty stomach growl impatiently.

"Mornin'. It's waffles, actually." Alfred replied, placing two plates of waffles topped with vanilla ice cream, blueberry sauce, and some colorful berries on the side. The table was already set with breakfast enough for three people. There were some slices of french bread, salad with olive oil, butter, a pint of orange juice, a glass of fresh milk for Peter, a pot of tea and the tea set, and other side dishes.

Arthur's jaw would've dropped if not for his conscience for self-appearance hadn't stopped him. On contrary, Peter was already gaping at the mouthwatering dishes.

"Wow," Arthur breathed, he could hear his stomach rumbling violently. "These look really… impressive!"

"I also made omelets if you don't feel like eating sweets." Alfred said, placing a plate of steaming, vegetable and bacon-filled omelets.

"No, we'll eat it all!" The two Kirklands answered in synch.

Both father and son looked at each other, and then they laughed aloud, Alfred could't hide his snickers either.

"Well, let's eat then!" Arthur declared.

"Yaaay! Waffles, waffles!" Peter thrust his fists up in the air.

They all sat together and had lively breakfast. The food was absolutely delicious, although a fuss came up when Arthur scolded Peter to eat more quietly and tidily. Peter only grinned widely with sauce smear around his mouth and dripped down chin. Arthur himself was filling his stomach with as many food as he could, as he hadn't eaten the night before, he was _starving_. In the end, the plates were all swept clean by them.

Alfred washed the dishes, while Peter helped by delivering the dirty dishes to the older boy. Arthur helped too, he wiped the wet dishes and placed them orderly in the rack. After the table and the kitchen were all cleaned up, Peter went to his room. Arthur and Alfred sat on the couch in the living room to watch the morning news.

"The food was great. Thanks for making us breakfast." Arthur said to Alfred, who smiled in return.

"It's no big. I like cooking."

Incidentally, Arthur noticed the bandages peeking out from underneath the sleeves of a brown sweater Alfred was wearing. "How is your injuries? Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh this?" Alfred pulled his sleeve a bit. "I feel okay, I can do things much easier now. I've been the doctor's orders. It doesn't hurt anymore. The doctor said I can remove the cast next week."

"I'm glad." Arthur gave the boy a warm smile. then he remembered something.

"By the way, you don't have to cook for lunch and dinner. Peter's dinner party is going to be in a local restaurant tonight, I actually forgot I had my secretary booked the tables a few days back." He laughed at his own forgetfulness. "Until then… Peter and I are going somewhere for the rest of the day, will you come with us? We'll eat out for lunch."

"Sure." The teen agreed. "Where are we going?"

"There's a children festival at the city square, Peter has been asking me to take him there. Some of his playmates and their parents will be there too. Coincidentally, it's on his birthday, I thought it's the perfect timing. So we arranged a playmate for them." He explained. "There is an open house in a next door gallery, I think we can go there while Peter plays with his friends."

"Cool. Peter is gonna be excited. I'd like to go." Alfred smiled.

While they were chatting, they heard hurried footsteps of someone running down the hall. Then Peter emerged into the living room, all dressed up and had even worn his shoes and jacket. "Daddy? When are we going? Let's go, let's go! Big brother too." He tugged at Alfred and Arthur's arms, pouting childishly.

"Daddy and big brother have to get ready first. You can wait for us while watching TV." Arthur got up and patted the boy's head, glancing meaningfully at the older boy over his shoulders. Alfred nodded, he got up too and went to his room, as did Arthur.

The three of them rode the elevator down to the lobby. The weather guy in the news said that it would be sunny all day long, so Arthur though they'd take the subway to get to the square. When they stepped out of the building, damn it was such a good day. After a few days of constant raining, today it looked like the streak had finally stopped, and the sun had shown its friendly face. The weather wasn't very hot, in fact it was a quite warm.

The streets were busy as always despite it being a weekend morning, though there weren't much pedestrians. They walked side by side down the avenue, Peter was in the middle, holding hands with Arthur and Alfred. The oldest of the three watched the other two as they talked and laughed, feeling his spirit soared high just at the sight of those children happily chatting, just being children. He gazed up at the warm sun and breathed in the fresh morning. He felt today was going to be a good day.

Early morning subways on weekend were less-crowded than usual. Arthur bought three tickets for them, while the other two waited for him by a pillar. It only took one train to get to their destination, so they didn't rush on their way. They rode on the bullet train going for the city square RMT just for a few minutes, and already they had to get off.

It only took five minutes by foot to get to the venue. Peter had ran ahead while he shouted for Arthur and Alfred to hurry it up, he sounded very enthusiastic and excited. When they arrived at the square, the tents, the stands and the stage were all set up but the festival hadn't officially opened yet. There were already some kids and parents waiting on the entrance, fidgeting impatiently on their toes.

"Aaah! Raivis! Raivis! Anthony! Jackie!" Peter pointed his finger when he spotted his best friend, who were among the waiting crowd, he was also with a few other boys. They were also Peter's friends. He immediately ran up to them and blended in instantly.

Arthur approached the parents and exchanged pleasantries with them, while Alfred stood a bit away. While they chatted, the festival spokesperson stepped up on a low podium right between the entrance gate and declared the festival had been opened. The kids were screaming in joy, dragging their parents or siblings into the venue in rush, while Arthur, Peter, his playmates, and their parents hadn't moved. They decided they wouldn't go straight away with the majority of the crowd, to prevent any of their children from getting lost.

"Can we please go? Can we pleaseeeeee goooo?" The kids began to beg to their parents, including Peter, who was pulling at Arthur's jacket with pleading eyes.

The British man sighed, noticing the other parents shared his sentiment. "Please take care of Peter while I'm gone. I'm just next door at the gallery - Call me if something happens." He spoke to Raivis' father, a kind-looking man. His wife was next to him.

"It's okay. Leave it to us. We'll watch out for Peter." Raivis' mother assured him, smiling sweetly.

After the group went in, Arthur looked around for Alfred, finding the boy was sitting in a nearby bench. He cast him an apologetic smile as he approached him. "Sorry, I had to talk with the parents. They agree to watch out for Peter while we go to the open house."

" 'tis okay. Are you sure you're not going with them? I can wait."

"It's fine. Peter doesn't like it if I'm around when he's playing with his friends, he said I'm too overprotective - I'm not sure where he learnt that word though." Arthur laughed embarrassedly. "Anyway, shall we go?"

"Umm 'kay." The younger boy got up, then they went to a building next to the city square. It looked like it was an open house for a new kind of art gallery. Arthur took a pamphlet of it and showed it to Alfred so they could see it together.

"Let's see… they have the usual Fine Arts' paintings and sculptures… hmm? What's this? _'The Culinary Art - The Art of Gastronomical Proportion' …_ this sounds new." The Brit flipped the page and the sample photos of it were printed there as well.

"Wow, looks tasty." He muttered softly when he saw pictures of all kinds of artistically decorated cakes and desserts, but there were also some uniquely-constructed dishes as well.

Then he closed the pamphlet, turning to Alfred.

"Well, this might be interesting after all. Let's get in." The American boy nodded in agreement.

They stepped into the first chamber, where they displayed paintings and sculptures made by well-known artists. They lingered around and commented to some, before they went to the next chamber, where they displayed the culinary artworks. There were assorted pastries and cakes, built and decorated in unique, avant-garde ways. They were put behind a glass box with fixed temperature to prevent the cakes from melting and curious onlookers.

"This is really impressive. I should bring Peter here later." Arthur uttered, stunned, looking at a British Castle made of colorful creams, cookies, chocolate laces, giant candies and other sweets. There was a space-themed pastries in the shape of rocket and spaceship, Arthur felt it could fit an adult, if they crawled inside.

They looked around and went on, the pastries chamber ended and they arrived in a hall full of actual food architecturally arranged in such original sublimity and appetizing way, that it tickled Arthur's already full stomach. They stopped to look at one that was particularly expertly-handled that the vegetables and the sauce looked like it was gleaming. Arthur noticed a plank card attached to the glass box, he read from it that the dish displayed in front of them was made by the headmaster of a famous culinary school.

_Zachary Bourdaire of Zachary Bourdaire's Specialized Academy of Culinary_, he read.

He had heard of that name before, his big-time clients had spoken generously of him as a very talented chef. Bourdaire apparently had built a reputation by cooking for celebrities' parties, five-stars hotels ballroom venues, and other important events. Arthur was about to mention this to Alfred, when he saw the youngster was staring at the displayed dish with a solemn expression as such that Arthur had never seen before.

"Alfred?" Arthur called out. But Alfred looked so preoccupied, that he didn't hear Arthur.

He tried to call him again. "Alfred."

Alfred had flinched and looked surprised, but unlike before he immediately answered. "Yeah? What is it?"

He felt different than before. "No, nothing." Arthur shook his head.

"…? Okay."

They moved to the next display, each in which Arthur noticed Alfred had great interest in. They spent longer time within that particular area than with the others. The Brit was not sure whether the boy realized it himself, but he had been staring at each piece with the same intense feelings to him as before. He seemed really intrigued, questioning how they could make the dishes that way, what ingredients they used, and how they would taste like.

After that, there wasn't much to see, so they exited the gallery. Outside of the building, Arthur checked his watch and realized there was plenty of time before Peter's play date ended. He told this to Alfred, who then suggested they wait for Peter in a nearby coffee shop. Arthur agreed. The Starbucks was right across the streets, so they decided to go there and have some coffee before lunch.

Alfred chose a table in the terrace, while Arthur was in the shop and ordered for them. He returned to the table with a mug of searing hot expresso and a bagel for Alfred, while Arthur had a cup of Darjeeling tea and some lemon cookies. Arthur breathed in the scent before he sipped the hot tea slowly, tasting the natural sweetness in his mouth, before he swallowed in joy.

After he put down the cup onto the plate, he noticed Alfred was staring at him. "What is it?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing." Alfred shook his head. "I just thought you'd definitely order some coffee. But it looks like you like tea better."

"Yes, I love tea. For me it's very relaxing." Arthur smiled. "I do drink coffee occasionally, only when I have a bad day, or I don't get much sleep but has to go to work."

"…I see." Alfred looked thoughtful for a moment. "We're running out of tea leaves at home, I should buy some more la - ah."

Arthur cocked his head to the side. Alfred averted his eyes while sipping his coffee quietly, but the older man noticed something was wrong.

"What's wrong? You're quiet all of a sudden." He asked him.

Alfred shifted his gaze at the man, he fidgeted in his seat and looked uncomfortable. "Nothing. I'm just - nothing." He insisted.

The Brit clearly didn't buy it. "You don't look like that and tell me it's nothing. Tell me what's bothering you."

It seemed that the younger boy had realized that he couldn't fool Arthur. Another silent moment emerged for the next few seconds.. "I… I feel embarrassed." Alfred admitted, his eyes looking away. Yet Arthur could see the boy's face was lightly flushed.

"Embarrassed? Embarrassed of what?"

"Because… I talked like… like I'm going to stay with you guys much longer."

Emerald eyes widened in surprise at Alfred's unexpected confession. The boy was now red to his ears as he looked down at his lap, hiding his face from the British man. He must've thought it was something awful to think of. Arthur was taken aback, of course, but he quickly recovered. They both were silent for a total of three seconds, before the Brit broke it.

"…do you want to stay with us, Alfred?" He suddenly asked.

Alfred's head was lifted up sharply, blue eyes widened. "I… I…" He seemed flustered and scared, gaping his mouth. Arthur was calm and serious as he waited for the boy's answer.

"I can't! I can't be a bother to you anymore… you've been so kind to me and," Alfred choked on the words. "And besides! Besides, the government guys will probably come to take me someplace, I heard it from my friend… they'll let me sleep and give me food there, so I won't be a trouble to anyone… I…"

"You're not answering me," Arthur stated firmly, coldly. "I asked, 'do you want to stay with us?' Tell me your true feelings, Alfred." Jade green eyes looked straight at azure sky ones.

"Do you or do you not want to remain living with Peter and me?"

Alfred was dumbfounded. His shoulders shook and his lips trembled, he looked afraid to speak out his mind. Staring down as if ashamed, a shadow overcame his features and hid his face. Meanwhile, Arthur was waiting patiently for the boy to finally crack his waning resolution.

" … ant to…" Alfred mumbled incoherently.

"I can't hear you." Arthur told him.

"I want… to…"

"…if you're a man, you have to state what you want loudly, Alfred. Say it louder!" Arthur barked, earning surprised gasps and stares from the other costumers. The Brit ignored them.

Alfred stood up until the chair he was sitting on fell backwards behind him and a bit of his coffee spilled out when the table clattered. He stared straight at the older man with forceful eyes. There was also fear, but another emotion overcame it. Arthur recognized it as childish selfishness, something the teenage boy should've displayed every once in a while, but chose to hide it out of consideration and fear of rejection.

"I… I want to stay!" He blurted out, panting hard after he had poured his feelings in that one statement. The other people around them, including a few pedestrian had stopped what they were doing to look at the source of the commotion.

Arthur's lips formed a proud, satisfied smirk.

"I'm glad you feel that way. I don't plan to let you go into that bloody rat's nest anyway." Arthur stated calmly, as he sipped his tea.

"Huh? Wh-what?" Alfred didn't seem to catch on what the older man was saying.

"First, sit down so people don't stare at you anymore."

Realizing the curious stares from random strangers all around them, Alfred flushed in embarrassment and quickly grab the fallen chair and sat on it, then he proceeded to drown his face in his hands, probably praying they would turn into a blackhole and suck him in. Arthur was considerate enough to stay cool. He waited until Alfred had calmed down before they started talking.

"Alfred, I want to tell you something."

"I wish you would continue to live with us as a part of our family. But… there are some problems we need to solve in order for you to be able to live with us properly, since you're still a minor. Despite that, I want you to be able to stay with us. I will do my best to provide you with anything necessary, including education."

He looked at the boy straight in the eyes. "So, if you let me… I would like to take the role of your guardian, Alfred."

Alfred was stunned and speechless. Arthur only smiled.

"… I suppose this might be too sudden for you. You don't have to answer right away, think about it carefully." Uttering calmly, the Brit sipped on his tea.

Arthur looked up at the soaring warm sun peeking through some cotton-like clouds in the midst of an extensive aquamarine canvas, while the rain clouds was swept away by the spring wind towards the silvery lines of the horizon. Arthur brought a hand to shade his eyes from its radiant rays, the weather was getting hotter.

He thought it was a good day indeed.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: I feel like I haven't written enough despite the chapter's length. I guess that means more writing?(OwO)b++

Tell me what you think! :-)


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